


A Reflection

by masamune11



Series: Cheating Karma [4]
Category: Fate/Grand Order, Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms, Mahabharata - Vyasa
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crappy Espionage Episode, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, near miss
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-12
Updated: 2019-06-17
Packaged: 2019-07-11 12:16:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 24,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15972131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/masamune11/pseuds/masamune11
Summary: "Welcome to my ephemeral dream, mage of end-times."He was born in the wake of tragedy, wishing for a happy ending.If he had to defy the world and the gods, forhissake, Karnashall.





	1. ephemeral dream

**Author's Note:**

> It has been... almost four months since my last update? *sweats profusely* I-I'm sorry! Work has been very demanding in these last four months, and building the plot of this fic... There has been many revisions and scratches, so much that the papers to my ideas might actually die?? Oooooh, there is so many things that I want to tell in this entry... so many things...
> 
> But anyway.
> 
> I apologize that this takes so long to start, but I do hope that you can enjoy this piece! It is unbeta'ed so far, but I have proofread it to my best ability. If you catch any wording weirdness, incorrect grammar, or anything at all, feel free to point out in the comments section!
> 
> Without further ado, please enjoy!
> 
> (And of course, this only *somewhat* makes sense if you read [A Wish](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14287743/chapters/32958456) first.)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Welcome to my ephemeral dream, mage of end-times," he greeted, to no one— _to everyone_.

In another life, he would have walked through the alleyway of this castle with a kind smile on his lips and a heart free of burden.

His pages would follow behind him, ready to serve him in a handwave. The servant boys in passing would part ways and genuflect in reverence, and Karna would have to restrain the compulsion to greet back. It is not how you, a King, greets back, Duryodhana once admonished, with a lilt of amusement in his voice, when he made that mistake. His best friend would, afterward, jump unto the topic of politics and philosophy—the matters that Karna had to learn in discreet due to his background as a Sutaputra.

But here, red-haired and a Prince before he was a Warrior, Karna was never known as one (though he supposed that he had heard something equivalent).

He was not Karna of the Charioteer clan; here, he was ( _had been_ ) the adopted son of Draupad, the Outsider Prince of Panchala and, much later, the Regent of said Kingdom after the war that purged evil that plagued Kuru. He was gifted (cursed) with an eye that could see through many possibilities—of worlds that contained his story, echoing myriads of knowledge and emotions—so that he may learn of a life beyond his own (a life where he died but his beloved lived on.)

Here, standing in the alleyway of this palace... It was the first time he walked through this alley as one of the caretakers of the royal family members. He could have done this years ago, had he accepted Yudhistira's offer to abandon the kingdom that had loved him (cherished him despite his unknown lineage) and embraced the one owned by his younger brothers (the ones who had cast him away). Now, he was walking through the empty corridor so that he may arrive by the King's side.

Or rather, by the urn of the late King of Kuru, before the subjects under his protection. There was tension in the air, breeding fear and worry, and Karna took pity on them for losing their beloved King. The news of Yudhistira's death was too sudden, and a successor had never been named. There was also the harrowing news of Bima's disappearance—the second inline if an emergency like this arose—furthering their restlessness. Without a proper King to take reign, it was a matter of time before Kuru fell to obscurity (or a civil war, or an invasion—whichever came first).

The whispers died down, however, when he caught the sound of fabric rustling against the flooring. Karna turned in that direction, at the man who was destined to take the throne of this kingdom. He was draped in white garments that Karna knew oh-too-well, a crown of silver and gold adorning his curly dark hair. And yet, nothing bedazzled him more than the quiet and open smile of this man's face as he graced his presence.

"Honored brother," he spoke, and Karna once again suppressed himself from shuddering in joy (in expectation), "You came, as promised."

He bowed in reverence, because Arjuna— _once dead, returned to life through miracles_ —deserved nothing less than adoration (because his beloved deserved better than to die on that forsaken field—)

"You asked. I come. it's just that simple," he replied, a twinkle of amusement in those dual-colored eyes, "besides, what kind of subject am I to miss my King's coronation?"

"One who devoted himself for the sake of his Kingdom," Arjuna replied sullenly, the brightness of his voice fading at the implication of his words. And Karna understood the reasoning behind such arising sorrow, knew too well that Panchala needed him as her Regent. And yet here he was, genuflecting before his dear, lost-now-found brother, offering the kingdom that had propelled his life ( _and killed him in the name of power_ ) as if he was his god.

(In this life, one where the third-born Pandava could, finally, smile in the cadence of life and hope,  _Arjuna might as well be so_.)

So Karna rose, red hair rustling as he moved closer, and reached for his brother's face. There was longing— _yearning_ —burrowed in those mismatched eyes as they locked with those ebony ones. His lips twisted, a gentle smile adorning his face.

"King Draupad— _my father_ —may have declared me a Prince, but the throne was never meant for me. But you," an emphasis, an urging, a glance that carried a purpose so great that Arjuna shuddered in his grasp, "you are my dearest brother, both by blood and by law, the one who would ascend to the throne of Kuru, the one who once ruled the Kingdom of Heaven. There is no one more worthy to rule Panchaala than you are."

Karna released his grip and saw the adoration on his brother's face, recognizing a resolution and gratefulness unyielding like steel. Arjuna flashed him a smile then, offering a reassuring grasp at his brother's hand, and Karna stepped away so that Arjuna might have the balcony.

The Outsider Prince walked to the corner, making himself scarce before the people his brother was meant to address. And when the crowd cheered for their new King, Arjuna's name chanted by the people of Kuru, _again and again_ , Karna could felt nothing less than joy as he committed to memory the straightened posture of his brother, waving at his subject.

This was how things should be: Arjuna as a King, _not a deadman_.

* * *

To be the owner of this red eye was to witness how the worlds beyond his own unfold.

In a time when he was just known as the Outsider Prince, he would sometimes glimpse at the lives belonging to himself and his brother. The situations surrounding those worlds, however, would replay the same idea, over and over: Karna, _the Son of Sun_ , on the side of unrighteousness,  _The Charitable Hero_ , against Arjuna, Son of Storm, partner to the divine,  _the Awarded Hero_. In every iteration, his brother would triumph over Karna's death and, in the end, would be felled by his own vanity (the story in-between may vary from another; once, he had witnessed his brother grieving over his dead body, guilt and desperation slowly eating at him; another showed him his brother's pitiful end by his own hand, the weight of his guilt growing too much to bear as years went by).

It was always a story of Arjuna's triumph and Karna's fall—of the former's everlasting hatred and ego, quenched only with the death of his brother, and of the latter's bluntness and acceptance, his life ending in tragedy.  _There was never a story where Arjuna died and Karna lived on_.

The deviation of his story, with those of the other worlds, was so jarring that Karna was awed; that such a subtle change— _how he was raised as a prince instead of a pauper_ —was able to change the world's narrative into something else altogether. It proved to him that the world, for all its wonders and balancing act, was a fragile,  _whimsical_ thing—that, with enough power, even he could influence it and build a reality that thrived on its deviation.

(He was already an  _impossibility_. Karna— _the real Karna who became the Regnant of Panchala_ —died in the rebellion that demanded sacrifices. Avenger was someone else together, a presence born of that man's regret and rejection—a wraith composed of hatred and anger towards the world that had paced to the wrong direction; the world that had conveniently picked him and Arjuna as its _scapegoats_.)

Thus, when he awakened to the face of his brother, sleeping as if the weight of the world had not pressed unto his visage, Karna could feel a sense of superiority flowing in his veins. He had made the impossible possible: Arjuna, alive and well despite his death; Kuru, the kingdom that had cast him away, dancing in the palm of his hand; Himself, an existence that—

— _who was he?_

Ebony eyes opened, searching for clarity in red and blue. A cascade of emotions seemed to pass behind those dark eyes, emulating both curiosity and worry. Here was Arjuna, within the encirclement of his arms, who laid on the bed wondering what his brother was thinking... yet being reticent to intrude at the same time.

Karna let out a small smile, tracing the face belonging to the other man, right where that dark hair framed his cheek. Arjuna seemed to perk in response, ebony eyes widening in silent mirth whilst a small sigh escaping his own.

"I have a dream," his beloved said, steel and fire in his words—a sense of certainty and purpose in his tone, "in which the both of us triumphed over our enemies who stand between us and our utopia."

At that, Karna could not help but let the newly-found giddiness rise from the pit of his stomach. How could he not, when Karna understood his King too, having seen the same vision as the man did. He remembered standing on that blood-drenched field once more, the barrenness reminding once more of the tragedy that ripped his beloved away from him. But the memory was soon forgotten when he realized that the presence he had referred to was already standing close next to him.

He recalled the appearances of many men and women, of vessels fashioned from many noble souls. These people stood before them as if they were trying to protect--whoever that was behind them. Karna could make out the shape of a person behind the line, a figure of utmost important who commanded this army of saints and sinners, and understood: this person was to be the key to make his plan unfold.

The rest of the dream was blurry to him, although he quite remembered how Arjuna slew through his (because that figure was young, despite the tired lines decorating his fair face) army, yielding strings of corpses that spewed blood and viscera. His brother moved like lightning, the myriads of celestial weapons in his possession dancing in thunder and rain, until nothing stood between them and the now-pallid young man. Karna remembered asking the youngster's surrender, though the scenery surrounding him faded to black before he could make out the his answer.

A shared dream with someone important (even when he learned not of his identity  _yet_ ), Karna concluded.

With this dream still fresh in mind, Karna hummed softly, reaching for his beloved's chin to tug that face so that he could gaze on those ebony eyes and measure the devotion in them.

"It was a good dream," Karna responded, pride and mischief underlining the tone of his words, "one that shall pass on my watch. But I would rather we enjoy the time that we have now before we race to grab the future."

They kissed, slowly and languidly, as if they had all the time in the world (Karna believed that they really did), savoring the companionship which they had finally attained—an impossibility created in the natural world.

A dream more fleeting than their vision—one which the Avenger would defend to end of time.

* * *

It was during a storm when he woke to the sound of the windows slammed open. 

Karna jolted out of the bed due to the loudness of it, a more extreme reaction if compared to Arjuna's sluggish awakening. The red-haired man quickly shushed his lover, urging him to go back to sleep and let him handle the windows. Brown eyes peeked at him with an amalgamation of confusion, curiosity, and worry as if he had sensed the things that his lover tried to hide under the guise of kindness. The red-haired man only offered a comforting smile in reply and put a reassuring kiss on his lover's forehead, once again compelling him to continue his sleep.

As if hypnotized, the newly-crowned King closed his eyes and fell back to sleep. If there was a trace of dark lightning sparked at the point where his lips met Arjuna's forehead, Karna paid it no heed.

His rude awakening was not only caused by a simple slammed-open window, after all.

The sound of rumbling thunder and roaring wind prompted him to quicken his pace to the opened windows. Karna was about to shut the window close when he stopped, the view beyond cloudy horizon rooted him to his place: a blinding flash that seemed to cut through the cloudy sky, like a falling star meant to bless this world. He was sure that there was a booming sound, hidden only by the ferocity of the storm, for it echoed the vision he had before his rude awakening—a vision shown by his red eye after a very long time.

(It had been a while since his gifted eye showed him anything,  _at all_. Perhaps his gods had not left him after all.)

"This needs to end, Karna."

The man— _i_ _f he could be called a man after his ascension at the fall of Dwarka_ —appeared before him as if space and time had no meaning. Reality did not seem to take a hold unto his presence, for the wind and rain  _parted_ , as if in respect of a greater presence than themselves. Krishna looked at him with boundless serenity, and Karna decided that he hated him more than ever.

"No," Karna's words were firm, as he recalled the vision that appeared before him in his dreams: the images of Kuru burning to the ground, her subjects offered to the darkness, Arjuna lying  _dead_. If such was the future that is to come, Karna will damn well  _prevent it._ "This is how it is supposed to be. You are like a brother to him,  _so why do you stand against me_?"

For a moment, that serenity seemed to flicker into pain (was this only in his head?), before shifting back into tranquility— _i_ _nto pity_.

"Because there is no meaning in life when it does not end," he replied, his words blending with the wind, "because this dream of yours is as flimsy as it is  _ephemeral_ , but foremost of all—"

His eyes widened as the ghost of Krishna closed in, a hand firmly placed on his shoulder, one that was imaginary yet  _real._

"— despite everything that you have  _seen_ , I regard you as a brother too, and I want you to be  _at peace_."

He would have rejected that notion with a growl of his own ( _such lies, had he not seen him as a thorn at the side of_ balance?), but the ghost of that person was already gone, leaving him with the sound of rolling thunder, the storm that seemed to hate him _even more_.

 _It mattered not if he became the world's enemy_ , he decided, mismatched eyes looking out to the horizon. At the distance, the light from that falling star was starting to dissipate, fading away as if someone wanted it to be kept hidden from prying interest—

—but nothing escaped his vision. Try as they may,  _for this world belonged to_ him.

"Welcome to my ephemeral dream, mage of end-times," he greeted, to no one— _to everyone,_ and closed the windows, "Welcome to your nightmare."


	2. in passing / mash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If one would ask her opinion, the situation pertaining this new singularity was disastrous from the very start.
> 
> * * *
> 
> In which the group enters the singularity, EMIYA actually has a sense of humor, and Karna and Mash idea of bonding include espionage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um, Hi? *sweatdrops*
> 
> I like Mash, and I always see her as the kind of girl who looks up to her senior -- particularly, in combat department so.
> 
> I just want to write her bonding with Karna, ok, thank you.
> 
> Without further ado, please enjoy! (Unbetae'd, but proofread to the best of my ability).

If one would ask her opinion, the situation pertaining this new singularity was disastrous from the very start.

While the spiritron conversion process went without a hitch, the rayshift process itself was a disaster. They were supposed to warp on land like they used to do; the very fact that they appeared in the sky, falling to the sea of greens below as if preluded the complicated situations that were bound to happen. Had it not for the prompt action from Emiya, haphazardly casting Rho Aias to break their fall, their entourage would not survive the whole ordeal. Moments after their successful landing, they had to worry about lodging, considering that they had arrived in the middle of a storm, with no civilized settlements in sight.

Arjuna was the first to act on this situation, offering himself to scout the area for a decent shelter. Through his effort, they finally could settle in an abandoned house with a decent condition, not far from where they landed. The house was small, though they could fit at least for up to five persons — six, in a stretch. How such a house was built in the middle of the forest, Mash could not fathom the reasoning. Though, considering how devoid it was of furniture, the Demi-Servant suspected that the owner had left it without looking back.

After a quick security assessment on her part (Arjuna glared at her for this act, as if she had offended him; Mash had no idea why) and a quick survey of the premises by Emiya, they decided that their master will retire in the main bedroom, while she in the smaller room across his. The rest — Emiya, Arjuna, and Karna — will settle in the living room and rotate for lookout duty, though she wondered if there is anyone beyond the storm at all. The gust was too strong for any normal person to go through.

(Then again, there could be anomalies such as monsters running amok. They were in the era where Mysteries are still common.)

Ritsuka had chosen to conserve his strength at her advise and the urging of Emiya, who had pointed out how pallid he had become since coming to this era. Considering the way they had arrived, Ritsuka's fatigue was reasonable. What was peculiar, however, was how Emiya insisted to stay with him, tension marring his face.

That left her alone with the Indian servants — and the elephant in the room.

(She... had heard of [that disastrous dream-sharing incident](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13979064/chapters/32184150), one that impacted both servants. While she was not privy of the details, her information sourced only from the gossip network maintained by several servants of Chaldea, she was sure that something had happened during that time, one that rattled the bond they shared and exposed their strained relationship to more turbulence.)

Karna sat at the corner of the room, eyes closed as if he was asleep. Sometimes they would open and look at the white-clad Archer standing idly next to the window as if trying to convince himself that Arjuna had gone nowhere. The white-clad Archer had been gazing out of the window, his form tense as if he was trying to find a reason to bolt away from the room. No one was trying to make conversation, the sound of wind and rain filling the silence that spanned among them three — until, surprisingly, Karna opened his eyes and broke the silence.

"You're too tense, Arjuna," he said, and Mash thought that she saw him glance at her for a moment, "Miss Kyrielight is getting uncomfortable."

She wanted to rebuke that statement (moreso the prefix that the Lancer used; had he been hanging around the Knights of the Round to catch some of their mannerism?), but in the end, chose to be silent. Brown eyes glanced at her, assessing, and the Archer in the room sighed, "I apologize for causing you discomfort. There are many thoughts that cross my mind."

_Aren't they, really?_ "No, it is alright," she responded, seeing an opportunity to break the ice. The silence had become too uncomfortable, true, and she was thankful of the Lancer for reaching out first. "But if I may... Would you share some of your thoughts with us? Perhaps it could alleviate some burdens off your mind."

For a moment, Mash thought that the Archer would reject her request, as there was no reason to do so (it wasn't that they were close; she could tell that Arjuna was one among the servants who prefer his own company, and that tended to isolate himself from the other servants — herself included). But then there was a shadow passing that burdened visage, before Arjuna shared, grimly.

"This is the house in which I, my brothers, and mother spent our exile after our escape from death," Arjuna spoke, and Mash wondered if that lifetime had made him starker, more exhausted. "But it matters not. It just means that we are not far from where Hastinapura is. When the storm passes, we can travel to the city and find more information."

She wondered why Arjuna preferred to disclose this information now, away from their master's pry. But she also had witnessed how the past could awaken unbidden memories, having seen Jeanne's darkened expression during their short adventure in Orleans. Thus, the young Shielder opted to take what he had said in a stride — for the time being.

(If she noticed the curious glance that their Lancer cast on him, Mash opted to let it slide.)

* * *

Hastinapura was rustically  _magical_.

The tales she had read before their transfer to this era paled in comparison to what she experienced. The city lived to its name; there were so many elephants around the town with varying height, though she noticed that not all of them were allowed within city parameters. Considering the size of the roads and the lack of infrastructure to support elephant breeding within the city walls, she supposed that this situation was to be expected.

Now, if only they could find a way to get into the city without raising attention...

"There's no reason to be tense, miss Kyrielight," Karna, the one assigned to scout the western wall with her, spoke out of his habit. His mannerism... And emulation was not something that she expected from the Servant too. Had someone been immersing the man in knightly culture?

She noticed how his facial expression changed into something quizzical, making herself fluster. She might have stared long enough to be deemed rude. "I-I'm sorry. I was — it is surprising, for you to refer me with my last name..." _Not to mention, the prefix..._

Those intense blue eyes seemed to soften, along with the almost-stiff expression in his face. "Apologies, I was told by Emiya to refer you so. If you are uncomfortable with such call, would Servant Shielder do?"

And there went her theory about the Knights of the Rounds being the real culprits.  _But why would Emiya-san do that_ , she wailed internally, even when her face showed nothing of her inner reaction. She swallowed her nervousness and surprise, flashing a kind smile if only to offer relief. 

"I don't mind if you call me that, though.. you may call me by name, Karna- _san_ ," she said, an embarrassed blush creeping at her face when she realized that she had casually referred him so, "T-that is if you don't mind me calling you so..."

(Honestly, they should have been discussing something better than this during a stakeout, but Mash cannot help her anxiety. At least this had not happened during battle, her survival instinct drowning out any traces of nervousness from her system.)

Karna smiled at her meek exclamation, and replied, "I don't mind, Mash."

The conversation died afterward, only for it to resume with few questions — and explanations — whenever her glance fell on matters that caught her eyes. For example, she noticed how the market below (they were positioned on top of the rooftops that made the wall, after all), bustling with people from all over the Kingdom, seemed to trade in weapons only. The Lancer explained that many who lived in the south-eastern part of Hastinapura made their living by hunting.

(It was heartening to look at Karna and saw those blue eyes lightened with spirit. In other moments, he would look indifferent despite his kindness, an inadvertent mask born from lack of human interaction.

To see how spirited he was to tell about his home despite his tragic history... It brought warmth to her too.)

Her gaze would then fall on to the caravan that brought lavish goods, crossing the market but never halting at any stalls. Karna caught unto her interest too and was about to open his mouth when the caravan took a turn... to the east — to the direction of the most unfamiliar structure in the city. The towers, or so they referred, for the time being, were built on top of the existing wall structure and became the tallest constructions compared to any building in the city. There was one each in every cardinal direction, its bricks painted in red. Da Vinci was able to confirm that the structures 'were not of this age'.

Karna's frown, whenever his attention was led to that place, solidified that conclusion.

"This is a good opportunity to find out more about the tower," Karna started, rising from his squatting position while recalling his lance away. "We could blend in with the caravan entourage and look for more information. Shall we go?"

She remembered how her master left the call to her, as long as they kept their head low. Wouldn't this count as too risky, considering that they were in enemy territory?

But _nothing ventured, nothing gained._

Mash nodded in agreement and recalled her shield too. "Yes, but we need proper attires to blend in."

It was really odd to see Karna smiling so brightly, a hint of mischief flashing in those blue eyes. "Let me deal with that."

* * *

Karna was able to procure _kurtas_ for both of them, having Mash wearing a looser one to hide her curves. _In this age, it's harder for a woman to move around without consequences. It'll be easier if you pass as a man._ The Lancer had said when he gave her the attire. The _kurtas_ were pallid brown in color — the same color which that caravan entourage's attire was — and came with additional mini capes to cover their heads from searing sunlight. _Travelers from the west tended to use this outfit_ , he said, though Mash noticed the discomfort marring his eyes when he gave one over to her as if there was more to say about that extra piece of clothing.

So Mash prompted her question, to which Karna reply with a frustrated sigh.

"The cloth pedler told me that I look like the Royal Advisor in the olden days," he replied, a deep frown gracing his lips, "There are not many persons likened to my physical traits, even fewer who is bestowed a position as high as the King's advisor. Not at this age, Mash."

Now she understood his troubles better — and gained another that pricked at her thoughts. She raised her gloveless hands, her armor having been recalled for the purpose of this mission, and showed most of her skin, so pale compared to the masses. "Could we even pass up as the caravan's entourage... With our skin color like this?"

Another small smile graced his lips, one she was not familiar with his usual display but brighten things nevertheless. "We would. The cloth peddler did mention that the White General has been expecting the entourage for a while. They come from the far west... The Iranian region in modern times, I presume."

"The White General?"

To that question, the Lancer simply clucked his tongue in distaste. "The Royal Advisor's helper, it seems. We'll have to dig further on that too."

They snooped into the group easily, when the entourage was resting, carefully standing at the back to avoid unwanted attention. The group passed the checkpoint of the tower, soon after, and was quietly led to the center of the tower. Much to the Shielder's surprise, the interior of the structure was akin to that of the castles in Orleans — another solid proof that someone was messing with history.

They stopped before a massive door, creaking loudly as it swung, that led to the audience room. The first thing that Mash noticed was the fragrance of lotus and lily in the air, soft and intermingling. The second thing she noticed was how the red fabrics that had been hung from the ceilings, decorated in golden _fleur-de-lis_ patterns, echoing the gold and silver accentuation of the room (the gold vase, the red carpet, the silver swords). It was as if they had stepped into a new world that defied the rules outside, one that was six thousand years too early to witness.

And yet, when her gaze fell unto the person at the center of the room, Mash suddenly understood the reason behind this anachronistic setting.

"You've arrived!" the person exclaimed cheerfully. Said person was a woman with pallid complexion and silver hair, clad in red _saree_ that accentuated her curves. Her blue eyes looked at them with expectation, almost sparkling under sunlight (there were horizontal cracks at the ceiling, and perhaps a dozen of mirrors installed to bring sunlight in), as she welcomed them in. "Please, show me!"

In retrospect, Mash shouldn't have been flummoxed — that it was a matter of time before she met the people — _Servants_ — that she had encountered in previous _Grand Orders_. And yet, seeing the Queen of France — _Marie Antoinette_  — herself _there_  was enough to discombobulate her thought process. _Someone has used the Grail to summon her... meaning, Marie_ might _already be deep in that person's machination_...

The mere thought of facing a once-comrade made her stomach twist.

Karna managed to lead her, following the rest of the entourage to stand away from the caravan. Even as she was led away, she could not break her gaze at the woman, who chatted animatedly with the leader of the caravan, until her partner snapped her out of her thought with a harsh tug on her arm.

"Focus, Mash," the Lancer advised, though she missed not a speck of confusion in his tone too, "Be aware of our situation."

The situation, being: they were undercover, deep enough to face a probable cause of this singularity, _with no master to assist_ , _with zero chance to escape without alerting the whole eastern part of the city_. The decision to go undercover had become one with most risk to expose their presences. Under her brown hood, Mash took several deep breaths to calm herself, knowing what to say (and hopefully, also to do). "We need to escape."

"And how do you plan to do so, I wonder~?"

That sweet voice heralded a danger that Mash was averse to face (not against someone whom she looked up to as a comrade). The Shielder took no time to refocus, her mind quickly prioritizing every option to disengage. The whole entourage of the caravan, as well as the guards standing by, had their attention focused on her and Karna. She could feel him tensing next to her, as sure as the metaphorical growing ice in her veins.

"I was surprised that the _pests_  whom our master had told us would show up this quickly," she purred, in a manner that was distinctly different from what the Shielder was used to. Cold sweat ran down Mash' neck as her lilac eyes met with azure, her mind racing for possible escape routes and distractions. _Most of all, distractions._

No idea came to her — at least nothing that would cause an uproar in the city.

Perhaps the Queen of Lily saw the hint of desperation in her lilac eyes and took pleasure from it, for the next words she delivered reflected nothing of kind Marie whom Mash had grown to respect: "Bring them in. Dead or alive? It doesn't matter."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some references:
> 
>   * [Some samples of saree gowns](https://www.google.co.id/search?q=saree+dress&tbm=isch)
>   * [Some samples of Kurta(s)](https://www.google.co.id/search?q=kurta&tbm=isch)
> 



	3. escape / arjuna

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was rare for Arjuna to witness Emiya's face paling, but Arjuna understood that it was not unreasonable.
> 
> _"Well fuck."_
> 
> Arjuna would have preferred worse curse, and he knew that he was entitled to one.
> 
> * * *
> 
> In which this is all Karna's fault -- or so Arjuna believes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for updating so slowly. The writing block has been hell, and.. truthfully, I hate writing this chapter. But it needs to be laid out, no matter what.
> 
> The funny thing about this chapter... is that it's not Dharmakshetra that saves my mood, but [this song over here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QNLcD0Cghus) (you'll be led to a youtube video titled "Genesis - In The Cage"). It's so random but... eh, it fits.
> 
> Proofread to the best of my abilities, but... if you catch any grammar correction, feel free to correct me.
> 
> Please enjoy~

This was what it's like to be Arjuna right now: restless, as he stood by the rooftop of the northern wall, overlooking the city which he and his brothers overtook at the expense of a clan's annihilation; weary, as he recalled his fratricide, even when he knew not of Karna's familial status with him when his deed came to pass; but mostly, tense, as he looked at the bustling open space designed for assembly, his mind recalling the many times he had come down there to do his duty. Nostalgia danced in his mind, alluring like the most addictive drug, and griped at his heart for the things that had come to pass—

—will he walk as a Prince if he chose to do so (despite his current designation as humanity's defender)? In this thought and its overarching memories that Arjuna dwelt, so deeply that he certainly missed the movement to his right. The spike of mana was the only alert that shook him off his stupor, but even then it was already too late. There was the flash of black steel, along with traces of red lines that demonstrated the true nature of its conception, as it was aimed at his person, propelling the man in white to take a few steps back away to avoid his attacker's reach.

He could have been injured for reacting that late if his assaulter had not stopped the momentum in time. Ebon eyes glared levelly at the man who dared to cause bodily harm on him, even when said man held Arjuna's respect. Even the Hero of the Endowed had limited patience, respect aside. "What are you trying to pull, Emiya?"

The red-clad servant only shrugged as he recalled Kanshou's blade, his projection vanishing in slivers of red. Had it been any other (Karna excluded, always deviating from the boxes that Arjuna wanted to put him into), they would have been alarmed by the steel and ice in his words. But Emiya remained undeterred, his poise unbroken as grey eyes locked gaze with ebon ones with consideration and... was that worry? The other Archer pulled his arms, neatly folding them as tension quickly filled his posture.

"You're unfocused," Emiya accused, his words, calm they might be, cutting through unsaid bullshits before they came out of the white-clad Archer's mouth (not that Arjuna had any fitting excuse, at all). He pointed his finger rudely, with apprehension, and followed through, "you've been gazing at nothing, your mind had been everywhere but here. Had I been your true enemy, you would have been dead ten times over."

"And you," Arjuna rebuked, his temperament almost unraveling under his control, "would have been dead hundred times over with that pitying attitude. Tell me, is this how you're planning to guard your fancy? By sparing pity towards his enemy?"

(The realization of that fact—that this red-clad man might harbor an affection unbecoming of a servant towards his master—took time to set in his mind. Emiya kept his cards close to his chest, despite his politeness and openness towards the general populace of Chaldea. And yet, because of that standard politeness, eventually Arjuna noticed the extras he gave to his master, the nods, the interaction, the subtle attention, and correction.)

He had been a witness to lives changed by words, having witnessed his wife's firmness during her Swayamvara and his mother's assertiveness when she demanded the princess of Panchala to be wedded to her sons and understood that they were capable of breeding vengeance—of twisting good men into villainous wretches. He knew this, and yet, he could not even withhold his tongue, letting the words picked at such softness. Arjuna knew because his keen eyes noticed the flinch in Emiya's countenance... and the growing distaste in his grey eyes.

There was a pang of guilt, but Arjuna had no time to reflect on it; his attention was already back to Emiya, dejection, and pity flashing behind silver (and this was what fed the sleeping wrath in his bosom; Arjuna needed no pity, even as he walked on this Singularity and relived his personal hell). 

"That is uncalled for," he replied, acknowledging the implied accusation with grace as he flashed him another pitying look, "but my point still stands. You are currently unfocused. I cannot trust you to guard my back should worse come to worst."

At the implication of his enfeeblement (because Arjuna's state was far from it—that he was still capable to do the task which their master had entrusted on his back; if the ghosts his mistakes in life haunted him with each building he passed, Arjuna had made sure to keep his conscience as clean as possible), that frustration raged under his control once again, propelling his mouth to spill more poisons—

—and he would have, had there been no commotion coming from the southern side of the city. There was the rumbling sound of a collapsed building, and then the golden light that shone almost like a second sun, rapidly floating away from its chasers. There was another flash of light, tailing in silver and rainbow, that resembled a horse, chasing at its target.

It was rare for Arjuna to witness Emiya's face paling, but Arjuna understood that it was not unreasonable.

"Well fuck."

Arjuna would have preferred worse curse, and he knew that he was entitled to one. Of all things, why must Karna get them into trouble like this?

* * *

There was a quick discussion before they launched to assist Karna, one that Arjuna kept on replaying in his mind if only to chase away the sentimentality of this era. It helped, to a certain degree, just as how they were moving towards their target helped him focus to the task at hand.

They managed to catch up with Karna and Mash few kilometers away from the north-eastern sentry tower. Even then, those two had not managed to lose their pursuers, and this very fact pissed Arjuna so greatly that even Emiya was wise enough to steer clear from his path.

Arjuna easily called Gandiva to existence, preparing to provide support even as they moved to close in. At the mental prodding of his master, a subtle command amidst the hazy link that they shared (their Master-Servant bond between had grown foggy ever since... that mishap), the Hero-Prince activated his Clairvoyance skill and stopped by the roof of a building next to an open square. He prepared himself and aimed... first for the three archers trying to shoot Karna (and Mash, in his carry) down. Gandiva howled like thunder, its arrows felling them right at the mark, and the bodies fell to the ground. Heads turned towards his direction, a cacophony of confusion, gladness, and fear flashing in the eyes of Hastinapura's dwellers.

In that span of a moment, Arjuna knew that they held the power to keep his feet still; were they not the same subject whom he vowed to protect, long after the disaster that was The War?

_"It's the King!"_

And that was when everything started to go wrong.

Down below where he stood to take aim was few people, prostrating before him as if he was their ruler. It was them. Then came the other: children and women who had just finished shopping and noticed his person; the masons who had just realized his presence; the city patrols who were about to halt them, only to join in bowing down to his direction—everyone in the open square below him, revering him as if he was a King.

(But Arjuna knew that he was never one. It was brother Yudhistira whom they showed this much reverence to, not to him.)

He was supposed to move away; Gandiva's thunderous sound was doubly meant to distract Karna's pursuers so that he would be able to escape. But he was rooted to where he stood far longer than necessary, the hostiles quickly racing towards him, and Arjuna, despite wanting to scream at himself for spacing out in sentimentality, quickly launched away, ignoring a hundred voices revering him, scurrying away in chaos at the arrival of his enemies.

It was really a good thing that Emiya kept his distance, already a hundred meters away from before him. Clairvoyance made his attention refocus, from the moving red form of said Archer, jumping around the building, to Karna, who was already moving to rendezvous with his master—

—good. This way, he could effectively play the role of distraction. Quickly, the white-clad Archer made a turn towards the northern tower, luring his pursuers away from their supposed targets. He ignored the itching sensation of his Clairvoyance as his jumps led him nearer to the red looming tower as if its mere presence—the unnatural anachronism that it emitted—grated at his natural senses. When he believed that he had made enough distance, the Servant quickly turned and made his shots at his pursuers. They fell mid-air with a sickening thud, struck by Gandiva's unfailing arrows. Arjuna made sure that his aim was to incapacitate, despite his bow's firepower, (a fall from that height would only cause broken bones and minor bruise, after all), as he was still unsure if their pursuers were natives or singularities.

Arjuna was about to move to the rendezvous point when he noticed it: a shadow at the top of that eerie northern tower. He narrowed his eyes, Clairvoyance straining his eyes to focus beyond what he was seeing. Moments after, the shadow abated, giving way to the silhouette of a man whose attire definitely belonged not to his era. Red cape billowed in the wind, one that hooded the man's head and obstructed his face from view. His long-ranged weapon (the name was a "sniper rifle", he believed) was visible, aimed at the direction of the sentry tower.

There were many things that Arjuna could have done, on the way to this spot. He could have pushed his Clairvoyance to the limit and noticed the irregularity on top of that tower, could have shaken himself up from the sentimentality that gripped his feet to rest, _could have set his nostalgia (regrets) aside and focused on his task as the companion of the mage who would save humanity—_

—but now, all he could do was to aim Gandiva at this irregular servant, _this man who certainly belonged not to Arjuna's era_ , and _shoot_ , even when he knew that _he would be far too late_.

There had been the sound of chamber firing, after all, the heat of magical energy racing to the direction of the sentry tower— _where his master and Karna should, eventually, converge._ Then came the overflowing shock at the back of his mind, the feel of his master frantically scraping for support.

Gandiva's roar may have deafened anyone near him, but it did not outcry the scathing internal scream of himself:  _this is all your fault._

* * *

This time, Arjuna wasted not a moment to move.

His blasted target had realized that he had been noticed (such was the downside of using Gandiva) and took the precautions to cast a defensive barrier around him. Though Gandiva's arrow easily cut through that shabby magical defense, it shifted its course, small enough to make it miss his target. The red-hooded man quickly moved into the tower, through one of the hollow windows.

His mind quickly weighed the pros and cons of pursuing him, ignoring the overbearing fury that was threatening to overcome calm judgment and forcing his feet to move to the meeting point. As much as he wanted to catch that unknown hostile, the safety of his master came first.

(Ever since their... unfortunate dream-sharing session, Arjuna could feel the faint 'link', one that tasted too much like his buried feelings—like the ghosts of broken dreams and innocence, trampled in his quest to absolve himself from impurities. It felt like _Krishna_ , the shade that he strove to _kill_ , and yet too faint to be malefic. It laid dormant at the back of his mind, tugging only when Ritsuka felt strongest. Perhaps this was a form of a master-servant bond.

And if it was Ritsuka's distress that he felt faintly through it, then it was of utmost importance for Arjuna to get back to his master's side as quickly as possible.)

He chose to lay low as he ran, opting for crowds and alleyways instead of the skyline. The city guards were still hot on his trail not so long ago, and Arjuna wouldn't want to fan the fire and prevented his own escape. He slipped through the various alleys that he remembered from his life, easily closing to the north-eastern sentry tower—the agreed rendezvous point—only to find it guarded more than what the archer preferred. He quickly took cover right at the alley in the corner, making himself scarce from view but enough for him to peek.

Arjuna managed to take a glimpse of the woman on the horse and pushed down the bitterness clawing out from the base of his stomach as he registered Marie Antoinette's regal form, issuing orders for a search outside the city. Some of the city guards assembled under her direction and then marched out. Some other, wearing different garbs than the city guards (he noticed the lily patterns on their silken robes and the staffs; court magicians, then, possibly brought forth from the Queen's era) started a group chant and poured concoctions around the sentry tower. A locator spell, perhaps.

Considering that the red-clad servant was nowhere to be found, Arjuna had to assume that the man proceeded to the first backup plan: full retreat, prioritizing the safety of their master. That meant the rendezvous point had changed from the tower to his old home.

But that also meant that they were in a pinch, to be pushed so far back to the starting line—

" _Arjuna._ "

Instinct kicked in at the mention of his name, _in that voice_. His hand already moved to grapple the person who had sneaked in behind him, reaching for the person's neck, surprisingly devoid of golden ornament, and _Arjuna could crush this feeble neck in an accident and drowned his hand with the man's_ red _once again—_

—Karna's blue eyes calmly locked gaze with him, and Arjuna found his breath hitch, releasing his grip in reflex. Confusion abated as quickly as it formed in those brown eyes as Arjuna refocused on matters of more import: his lack of armor, for starters, as well as the brown _kurta_ that made him as unassuming as any beggar. Before he could even comment, the Lancer already made a finger gesture to keep silent and handed over another _kurta_ similar to his own.

Had this not been an unforeseen situation, Arjuna would have outright rebuked this idea (perhaps it was petty of him to reject any ideas born by this man, but he... he simply could not help it), but outrageous situation required a practical solution, so he took the disguise with a scowl that countered Karna's content smirk and tuned down his white _kurta,_ quickly changing to the brown one.

As soon as they were done with the disguise, they quickly made their move to the east, clearly making the south-eastern sentry tower as their point of exit. Arjuna's mood soured at the direction they were taking; there had been one change-of-plan too many and Karna had not even spilled any information to him (if he knew anything at all). It simply did not make sense for the servant to stay behind, rather than to ensure their master's survival. Did this mean that Mash is with him? Had Ritsuka ordered Karna to pick him up, so to speak?

_What is happening?_

Karna seemed to catch his unsaid questions, though Arjuna wondered just what was so severe that his bland expression changed to _pained._ Dread pooled in his stomach as they made their way to the sparsely guarded sentry tower (their diversion _did_ work) and anti-climatically slipped out of the city. The forest was a welcomed scenery to his eyes and Arjuna found himself relaxing, though he managed to keep a degree of vigilance. The area surrounding Hastinapura was routinely patrolled to keep beasts away from the city outer walls, but Arjuna would not risk it; their arrangement had been compromised and he certainly would not let a stray _Rakshasa_ impede their retreat.

And he would certainly not let ignorance and silence be their downfall. 

"We're far enough, _Karna_ ," He declared, harshly reaching for the white-haired servant's shoulder to halt him in place. Even after everything that had happened... after the disastrous event that should have erased the bad blood (regret, hate, distaste, _sorrow, pain—_ ) between them, Arjuna could not help but see him this man as the rival that stood to deter him from his rightful destiny ( _the one whose existence evoked jealousy and greed appeased not by the many wonders of the world_ ).

And if his heart rattled still in confusion and fear upon Karna's honest proclamation, Arjuna shoved them to the recesses of his mind and heart, where the broken pieces of his darker emotions lied. Ritsu— _his master_ took priority than his own feelings did.

Karna stopped, per his gesture, the crossed look in his eyes melding with distress, "Emiya is incapacitated. We fear that he will not make it."

He never got the chance to ask him more questions as Karna continued his move, forcing Arjuna to follow suit. By the time they arrived by his old house, the sun had slipped low enough to warrant forest animals to finish their hunt. Time flew too quickly for his liking, much like how their situation was backtracking instead of moving forward.

The first thing that he noticed from his house-turned-basecamp was the _blood_ , trails of them making way inside; next was the smell of various herbs, burnt as if to hold death at the door, and finally; the form of a man standing inside the living room, walking out of the vicinity light steps and heavy heart. When the man looked up, gentle brown eyes meeting hard ones, Arjuna finally let sentimentality govern his heart.

It was not every day for him to meet a dearly loved face, after all, despite the circumstances behind _everything._

"It is good to see you again, _Sahadeva._ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No historical reference for the time being, but something pleasing the eyes, I suppose:
> 
>   * [Avenger (?) Karna](https://imgur.com/B9AAIky) comissioned by [Yamyouw @ Twitter](https://twitter.com/Yamyouw)
>   * [Marie Antoinette](https://imgur.com/HeAKOMJ) comissioned by [kelincipinkeu @ Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/kelincipinkeu/)
> 



	4. the brothers / ritsuka

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He thought there was a streak of fondness in those blue eyes, and Ritsuka wondered how the renowned General of Kuru would look at those men and be at  _peace_  (a wonderment that was soon laid to rest as soon as Karna made his explanation).
> 
> "They are Nakula and Sahadeva, youngest sons of Pandu. My brothers, if only through my mother's blood _._ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *casually drops an update after such a long while*
> 
> To be honest, I don't really like this chapter. It's somewhat info-dumping... but it needs to be done? It's reviewed to the best of my ability, though notitfy me if you find any glitches, yay?
> 
> Without further ado, please enjoy.

Ritsuka Fujimaru had long accepted the fact that peril would always stalk his path, in his mission to save the world. His first singularity might have been a test—a trial by fire—that threw his perspective to disarray, one that he could not possibly survive if he had no support from Chaldea. Hell, he would not be able to come in terms with this mess in the first place, if Chaldea had not banded together and tried— _oh they tried so hard, pulling together every shred of ability and power to their limit_ —to solve this human history incineration problem. Through this series of journeys to correct history, he learned, over and over again, that plans easily fell to ruin—

—that it was better to have the flexibility to change plans at will, and then to go through with it well.

He sat hidden from the naked view (for his safety, as Emiya claimed), just below the railing. It was not far from where Emiya was engaging Arjuna, in a verbal exchange that tasted more like a preamble of destruction than of understanding. His hand, the one with the mark of a Master, twitched uneasily, his instinct reacting to the unknown that Arjuna had introduced before this operation began, one that could be traced back to the aftermath of their disastrous dream-sharing incident.

In the incidences that drove him to learn more of the Servants, usually through bouts of dream-sharing moments (no, delving into Arjuna's most private part of psyche was not his first rodeo; he had quite the honor to have shared dream with other notable Servants), Ritsuka always experienced a sense of fortification of bond, between he and the associated servant. Arjuna's case, however, differed, with how their bond seemed retracting instead of growing—as if Arjuna was trying to withdraw himself even further, hiding his true self that was as flawed ( _perfect_ ) as other Servants, even when Ritsuka had seen the worst of his qualities.

Emiya had noticed his worry for a while, but had only confronted him about it during their stay at the abandoned house. The red-clad servant even went so far to arrange a more private arrangement of his quarter, ignoring Ritsuka's plea of ' _I won't accept special treatment!'_. Of course, the purpose of his decision was become much apparent later on, when he invited himself into the room, confronting Ritsuka with the topic only when he had checked upon the security and privacy of the quarter.

"I apologize beforehand if I am out of line, Master," he opened, concerned silver affixed unto his own blue, "but please, if you have any worries weighing your mind  _now_ , it will be best to say it. We might not have a chance in the future, and we need you at your best, now more than ever."

He would not admit this out loud, but Emiya's frankness, wrapped in politeness (sometimes in irritating, but playful smugness), charmed him enough to let his lips loose. And the story poured out: of how he could feel the bond between him and Arjuna growing tenuous with every coming moment; about the worry that built up around Chaldea, overshadowing their spirit like a dark cloud, and finally; the recent dream that he had, the reason why he decided to sit Emiya out from the team.

Ritsuka chose to end the story then, letting the silence between them speak of his reluctance to let out what ailed his mind.

(How could he not, when he knew that, if he closed his eyes, Ritsuka would see each and every servant summoned to Chaldea  _ceased_ , at the hands of malefic alters? How could he not, when they dragged the last of them— _Emiya_ —and gruesomely killed him before his eyes?)

Emiya noticed the silence that befell them, giving his master a nod as a sign of deference. Those silver eyes seemed so resilient then as if he had already found and judged Ritsuka's worries as non-problematic (not because it was unimportant, but because, perhaps, Emiya had already thought of its countermeasures). "Let me deal with Arjuna, first."

(The Servant did not say that everything will be fine, such was Emiya's practicality; he will promise the things within his power, never those beyond it.)

And so he did, or was going to do so, had it not for the commotion at the southern side of the city. Ritsuka noticed the golden light that dashed around, trying to lose the silver one that had been tailing it. The name  _Karna_  automatically came to mind, following another slew of questions that echoed Mash' presence and the unknown hostiles pertaining their case. But the questions were never voiced, not when Emiya had already made his way to him and gruffly advised to move out. Ritsuka did not waste time to issue the command while ignoring the irritated glare that Arjuna sent to him (or was it to Emiya?). The white-clad Archer offered no comments, however, opting to ready his mana burst instead and then quickly moving to join the chase.

They settled with this arrangement: Arjuna on the forefront of the chase, clearing out enemies while he was at it, and Emiya, carrying Ritsuka along at the back, following the pace that Arjuna set while keeping watch of Ritsuka as they traveled. It began to change, however, when Ritsuka felt a prick of annoyance, and yet so intense in its own right, from the fragile bond that connected him and Arjuna. Before he could even issue another word, Arjuna had already gone beyond the appropriate distant, leaving him and Emiya behind. There was a string of booms akin to thunder-strike in the distance, the last one evoking an exasperation sigh from Emiya's lips.

In all honesty, Ritsuka wanted to follow suit, but the odd jolt of Arjuna's irritation still lingered at the back of his mind like an insistent gum.

Emiya stopped on the roof of the taller buildings in the vicinity, much to Ritsuka's surprise, and put him down. Perhaps he had read the question in his look, for Emiya only commented, "I'd rather we steer clear of his way for the time being. It's clear that Arjuna intends to play bait so Karna can escape."

Comprehension of their current situation quickly dawned on him, leaving Ritsuka nodding in understanding, followed by an irritated sigh. "I just wish that he made the time to explain, instead of going out there without informing us."

Archer gave him a pitying look, as though he had been subjected to the wiles of managing servants (in a way, he might as well be; for some reasons Emiya tended to be the mediator in many qualms, be they silly or serious, requiring utmost attention lest it crush Chaldea itself), and extended his hand once more. Gandiva's roar was getting further away, and Ritsuka understood that they needed to maintain distance. He quickly welcomed the offer, letting the Archer carry him (no, he will not blush out of embarrassment,  _even if he's being bridal-carried)_ , and formulated a plan in mind: rendezvous with Karna and Mash as soon as they lost their pursuers, then get out of the city and regroup at the house while piecing information that they had gathered so far. A simple yet perfect plan of regrouping.

Then the world tilted around him. 

That was how Ritsuka's nightmare began.

* * *

No matter how suspicious the whole situation was, Ritsuka was sure of one thing: they owed their lives to the strangers.

His whole plan had been shattered even before he had the chance to implement it, when both he and Emiya gracelessly fell to the ground _,_  crashing through several makeshift roofs in the process. Fortunately, the Servant managed to break their fall, buffering most of the shock with his own body. The confusion in Ritsuka's mind, however, only subsided when he realized that Emiya was writhing in pain, jolting the master to get off his servant-cushion in order to better assess the situation.

He remembered the fear jolting through his spine when he saw Emiya, grunting in pain and writhing in agony, and noted the blood flowing out from the wound on his right shoulder-blade (clean, meaning that it could have been a beam of energy or a bullet—a big one). The spiritron particle that held his saint graph was slowly dissipating—

—he remembered invoking his command seal to heal the red-clad archer but to no avail.

They appeared before him when Ritsuka despaired, hunched over the servant who had become more than just a comrade to him, with a solemn frown and a resolute gaze. From the entrance of the alley where he and Emiya crashed down did they come, the two who had been hiding among the commoners if only to come forth at the right time. They were clad in brown robes worn by the general populace of this city, while their faces were hidden from view thanks to the hoods sewn to their modest robes. 

"We have no time, Master of Chaldea. Please, please let us help."

In any normal circumstances, Ritsuka would have refused. But they had not been able to establish a functional link with Chaldea ever since their arrival as if the singularity itself was actively sabotaging any attempt to communicate with outside existence, nor had they been able to regroup with his other servants. The fact that one of them knew of his identity might imply their relationship with the source of this singularity in the first place. Everything about accepting this offer reeked  _traps_.

And yet, Ritsuka, last master of humanity, nodded at the offer. In a situation so compromising of his own security,  _Ritsuka had forgotten every sense of needed skepticism in favor of slim hope to get help for_  him, the servant who had stood by his side and offered advises where they were needed.

The strangers were deceptively strong, as much as they were nimble. One of them moved to sling Emiya over his shoulder, as soon as he gave his consent, while the other approached him with an extended hand—an invitation to stand. There was a sliver of thought, floating among the fear and the adrenaline that overrode his calm, that echoed like this:  _surely someone with such decency would not do him harm_. Ritsuka had to cut his thoughts to close, as he let the stranger carry him. The four of them moved fast, enough for him to question whether humanity he knew of the modern times was simply more inferior than that of the age of gods; surely no human of his era was able to move as quickly as  _this_?

_Or perhaps these strangers were not humans at all?_

Such thought only intensified his wariness and adrenaline, so Ritsuka opted to divert his attention from it; he would cross that bridge (of risk) when the time came.

Surprisingly, they picked the route leading to the old settlement, where they established their summoning point. Even more surprising was to meet both Karna and Mash outside of the border, with the former taking no battle stance at the presences of both himself and the two strangers accompanying him (in contrast to Mash, who almost jumped from Karna's hold if only to assure the condition of their master—an action that the Lancer quickly prevented). Ritsuka shivered under the weight of the Lancer's stare, blue eyes widening as though an epiphany dawned on the servant, and watched in amazement as Karna spoke: 

"We are blessed to have your aid, sons of Pandu."

The rest of their journey was made in silence, with Karna's words ringing in his ears, and many questions of his own occupying most of his thoughts. Ritsuka was still privy to voice his concerns as they were still on the move (walls had ears, and forest from the age of gods might as well had them too), at least until he arrived. Both Karna and Mash firstly moved in to secure the location, per the newest protocol that Emiya had advised (the mere thought of him stung, considering the weakened, almost-disintegrating form of him slung over stranger number one), and signaled them to walk in.

From then on, there were not any instances for him to dig for more information. The one who had been carrying Emiya had settled the servant at the empty space of the living room, his hood falling down to reveal a fair face that certainly belonged to a noble. The other, the one who had been carrying him all along, was already pulling various herbs and specks of dust from his pouch and started spreading them around and over Emiya's flickering form. Ritsuka would have objected, would have deterred them from doing anything towards the red archer, but Karna ( _when had he moved in?_ ) was already by his side, blue eyes pleading.

"If they are the same persons from my memories—and I am very sure that they  _are_ —it would be best to leave them to their workings."

He wanted to scream then, at the men who were starting a ritual to fix his servant, at the servant who coaxed him to stay his hand,  _at the whole situation that easily fell from worst to almost-broken-beyond-repair._

But Ritsuka settled with a strained inquiry, "who are they?"

He thought there was a streak of fondness in those blue eyes, and Ritsuka wondered how the renowned General of Kuru would look at those men and be at  _peace_  (a wonderment that was soon laid to rest as soon as Karna made his explanation).

"They are Nakula and Sahadeva, youngest sons of Pandu. My brothers, if only through my mother's blood _._ "

* * *

"He is not our esteemed brother-in-law, is he?"

The question was, without a doubt, the most peculiar among the series of voiceless inquiries added into his own growing list.

After successfully stabilizing Emiya's spiritron composition (Ritsuka remembered of passing out right after Nakula shared the good news and was certainly out of commission when the man started explaining about how Emiya's wound interfered with its logical state-of-presence; something that hit him, possibly a bullet, almost severed his anchor to the world of this era), they moved on to the following tasks. It never ceased to amaze him, their degree of independence to operate under an extreme situation like this... and yet, he always forgot that he's dealing with heroes of old; war and battle execution were exactly their forte.

Karna had dragged Nakula with him to patrol around the area and, perhaps, talked about matters pertaining this singularity. Ritsuka had ordered Mash to take rest, for he understood that she was still a human, host of Galahad aside. It left him alone, in the company of Sahadeva, whose question seemed to ring in the quietness of the almost empty room.

"If I may," Ritsuka replied, a glint of wariness marring those blue eyes that were used to shine with optimism instead of pessimism, “I have only ever known Karna as the rival of Arjuna, your brother. Is he not so here?”

There was no surprise on the Pandava’s face, only forlorn acceptance, as he shook his head and proceeded to explain further, “Honored brother was a prince of Panchala. Adopted, but still a prince, nonetheless. At the end of Kurukshetra War, he was appointed as the regent of the kingdom, to the son of a distant cousin of the king. Shortly after, the kingdom was thrown into power struggle… and reportedly, he was killed in the gruesome coup d'etat. But that… is not our problem now.”

The Pandava paused as if giving the Chaldean master time to process this information. This was not the only piece that had been imparted to him after all: that they are humans, not heroic spirits; that Sahadeva had foreseen, through Krishna’s divine message, the arrival of the savior that will save this world, and; that the Kuru Kingdom has opted to conquer the many kingdoms surrounding its own through brute force, while ignoring the old ritual of Rajasuya. Somewhen, several years before they arrived in this place, someone, probably with the means of a holy grail, had splintered this era to run on a different course of history.

That said, Ritsuka really wished that whatever Sahadeva was about to say… would not complicate matters further (but oh, they would, like so many things that screwed him and the team over in the last six singularities).

He nodded as if telling the Pandava to go on. There was a short moment when Sahadeva glanced at the main door, then at the recovering but unconscious Emiya, and then at him as if he was having an epiphany. It did not last long as the Pandava’s lips curved into a frown, and the air around them plummetted slightly as if to resonance in the grimness of his news.

“Panchala fell to the hands of the usurpers, and it became war-torn land. Our lord brother Yudhistira had seen enough war to last for a lifetime—having also been a participant of it, I cannot fault him for wishing so. Brother Bima was given the order to visit Kamyaka as a gesture of condolence—his late son was its king, after all, one who raced to support us to fulfill his duty as  _a son_ —but he never returned. And when we thought that everything would finally settle down, someone claiming as our departed brother appeared before the court of Kuru.”

Ritsuka felt the longing underneath those words, mixed with both awe and sadness, as the Pandava ended his words. Their locked gaze had long since broken, with Sahadeva’s attention lingering on the door outside—

“He claimed himself as Arjuna, the middle son of Pandu, the one who never cheats in a fight, the one born under Phalaguni’s protection. But I know who he really is: he is a liar, a usurper to the throne of Kuru, a fake like the Servant that comes along with you. _I was there during his cremation_ , and I shall not be lied.”

—Ritsuka should have reproached that declaration, all things considered, and yet, when Sahadeva rose up from his seating, quickly moving towards the exit at the appearance of Arjuna and then  _embracing him as if the other will disappear_ , he withheld his rebuke.

If he were given the chance to greet even the ghosts of the people whom he bid goodbye, he would hug the hell out of them too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some references:
> 
>   * Rajasuya ([ID](https://id.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rajasuya) | [EN](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rajasuya))
>   * [Kamyaka](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kamyaka_Forest)
> 

> 
> Happy new year, guys :")


	5. (intermission) catch-up / marie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Then she noticed the secret glances that the king threw at his advisor, one of which caught the attention of her master. They seemed to glow in mirth, much to Marie’s confusion… at least until she noticed the faint marks on her highness’ neck, ones that were similar to bite marks and kisses—
> 
> —Oh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year!
> 
> Apparently, the theory about "Comic Sans MS" being able to squeeze that creativity juice... applies to me. The good thing is, I am able to write more about. The bad thing is... it's an intermission (u v u;;).
> 
> Well, this marks my first update in 2019, so I'm pretty proud of myself for squeezing this in. Thank you so far for your continuous support in 2018, and I hope that I can still deliver this fic (and the subsequent sequels and spin-offs, haha) in 2019 too.
> 
> Without further ado, please... enjoy.

She knew that she screwed up when she decided to pursue the sound of thunder at the distance, instead of focusing on the gleam of gold before her.

The intrusion came without notice—a flash of blue arrows that struck her minions down in one blow—and made her decision to change target. Surely if those two had a backup, then the reinforcement should come from the master? So she changed direction, chasing that form of white gracefully jumping around the building while sniping some of her guards.

That was so until she realized that they were nearing the area where  _that man_ operated.

Marie was never one to fuss about the co-workers whom she needed to work with (or deal against), but the one assigned by her king to guard the northern tower put her on edge. Perhaps it was the nature of his summoning, or simply the way he brought himself (he reeked of both nihilism and stubbornness—a fatal combination that would blow at her king's face, in her opinion). Knowing her white-clad target had entered that man's territory, Marie simply signed her guards to retreat.

For a single moment, there was a sense of emptiness in the air, as if the mana around them was forcefully condensed and  _stretched_ , until it  _did_  snap. There was no sound, no known heat or  _anything_ , except for a bell silently tolling at the distance and the sound of magecraft collapsing in destruction—

—she had seen the man hunted his prey. The last thing that Marie wanted was to witness the destruction left by that man's projectile. Thus the White General commanded her minions to retrace their steps and continue their search on the remaining loose ends (she should have gone for those white-skinned targets first), waiting for the last of them to scram until she was left alone.

Fond as she was of them, there were things that she needed to deal with alone. This time, was the calling at the edge of her hearing, the subtle order sent by his master to appear by his side. Marie responded to it, welcomed the magecraft that dispersed her being and reconstructed her where she was needed: before the very existence that had summoned her to  _be_.

The Royal Advisor of Kuru Court looked as imposing as he should be, a presence of vengeance wrapped in fake fragility and ambition. His red hair never ceased to attract her attention, bloody red that demanded the attention of the world (like his selfish wish of  _love and peace_ offered to the grail, one that she answered because  _how could she turn her back from such selfish desire?_ ). Those mismatched eyes, quietly glaring at her as if considering whether she was worth his time (such audacity; she would always be worthy of his time), looked as guarded as the last time she saw them… and Marie wondered just how many secrets he held that he would not even show weakness before his own vassals.

(Many, she’d wager because the delicate Marie Antoinette had to keep so many secrets to avoid the daggers behind every cloak. Surely the same applied to this man too.)

The person he served— _The Usurper King_ , as whispered by some of her retainers—looked as striking as he did  _ruthlessly_. Those dark eyes expressed no sympathy nor hate, as if he had gone through the veil of death and returned with a quiet epiphany that  _nothing in this world mattered_ , not when everything would meet the same end. And yet, she remembered those dark eyes shone with warmth whenever he engaged with his advisor, a sublime being that bent to wiles of the red-haired man.

His Master’s Puppet, but also the King of Kuru.

“Your White General returns, my Master,” she declared, making a courteous bow as she did so.

There was a smile gracing that man’s lips, much to her surprise, as he commanded her to straighten up (to which she did), and Marie suddenly found it hard to reconcile his attitude with the coldness that he exuded. After all, he should have been privy of her failure to capture Chaldean adventurers (he had his own eyes and ears all over the city, after all), thus… there was no reason for him to be mirthful about.

Then she noticed the secret glances that the king threw at his advisor, one of which caught the attention of her master. They seemed to glow in mirth, much to Marie’s confusion… at least until she noticed the faint marks on her highness’ neck, ones that were similar to bite marks and kisses—

— _Oh._

She had no time to be flustered (or any reason to be; honestly, if her master decided to sleep with his king… well, it was certainly none of her business) when the empty space next to her burned with magical energy. One summoning-without-chant session later, the very person whom she tried to avoid appeared in silent glory, the edge of his red hood falling from his shoulder. The silence seemed to stretch infinitely, until the other servant made the move to unveil his face—a move that startled her too—and spoke, “I am here, per your request.”

The Advisor made a curt nod at them both. “Tell me what you have learned about the Chaldeans. Starting with you, Rider.”

She was displeased to be referred as her class instead of her name, but Marie carefully schooled her expression and answered with utmost care, “A pair of them managed to sneak into the eastern tower by tailing the caravan. It seems that they are still unaware of the materials that we are gathering to consolidate your plan, my your Royal Highnesses, so I believe that we have no breach of information, even when they avoided capture.”

For a moment, he regarded her with an amused look (she would never admit publicly that it irked her,  _so much_ ) and the replied, “Thank you, Rider, you know well enough to report on the things that matter. Please continue your good work. What of you, Assasin? What do you have to report?”

The one he referred as Assasin seemed to dwell in his silence for a moment. Even after revealing his face—a tanned one, decorated with graying hair and determined yet empty eyes—the air of a quiet fall revolved around him still. “There are five of them, at least. Two archers, two servants whose classes we do not know about, and the master. The red-clad Archer…”

A pause. Then a glare from their master to coax him through.

“...he should be out of commission for a while,” the Assassin continued, and Marie wondered if she hallucinated the subtle brittleness underneath those words. “But the white-clad servant will pose a problem to our plan, considering that he looks the same as our Majesty.”

“The people will  _always_ recognize me as their King. The crown bestowed upon me is their proof… and no one, not even  _a copy of myself born through secondhand magic_ , is worthy to wear it.” the Usurper King,  _the one claiming himself as Arjuna who had been reborn through heavenly thunder that razed Kurukshetra on the last days of that war_ , rebuked with a strong voice that made her head turn. “You need not to worry about that, Assasin.”

Silence returned to the audience chamber. This time, however, it was filled with a dread that clung onto the grey-haired servant, along with a glare that judged the king to be foolish. King Arjuna seemed to realize this, as those ebony eyes glaring back in scrutiny… and the dense mana around him started to swirl.

Marie had her own power drawn if only to protect herself from sudden movement—

“You worry about  _my brothers._ That they will join forces.”

—and that silence snapped at the words her master brought forward, the conclusion that was  _unvoiced_. Mere moments after, their master let out a long giggle, one that slowly evolved into a fullblown laughter. The King eyed his trusted advisor with worry (oh, how easily emotions flew between them as if they had their own world, immortal and so  _glorious_ ), gently stroking his shoulder if only to provide grounding. For a moment, her master shook his head, the words of his murmur puzzling her:

“Of course you would turn them against me, Krishna. Of course.”

He raised his head, his hand already over the King’s. Those red-blue eyes now glinted with both determination and triumph, as he spoke his orders. “Assassin, I want them tracked down and  _eliminated_. Sahadeva and Nakula take priorities, for they pose a risk of sparking rebellion within our walls. You have my permission to use the forces that I have gathered. Dismissed.”

There wasn’t even any confirmation, but only a curt nod as he sent the servant away with a handwave, leaving trails of electric red in its wake. He looked at her then, his gaze dragging the unease which she thought that she had buried, and offered the sincerest smile that she had ever seen.

“I need a favor from you,  _Marie_.”

She had lived her life avoiding daggers behind cloaks, learning each trap laid against her had always been honeyed with saccharine words designed to pick at her ego. Perhaps, her master realized that she despised being simply referred per her class (limited her container might be, Marie still contained the ego that made her a queen; if the circumstance of her summoning allowed not of her title in life, at least she wanted to be referred as  _Marie_ in this pseudo-life) and flattered her to gain approval.

So Marie gave him a smile, one reserved for her enemy at court because  _her master simply reeked of strings_ , and replied, “you are my master,  _Karna_. It is within your right to command me—and I shall deliver.”

Perhaps he sensed the subtle animosity in her tone, or maybe it was the context of his name, flung around without proper respect of a servant to her master because the Advisor offered her a smirk of his own—one that rightfully made her wary.

“It is a favor because it may demand sacrifice from your part. After all,  _she_ has been the one with you ever since the start of our undertaking.”

She could feel her face paling at the mention of  _her_ _._

The city of Hastinapura had four towers at each cardinal directions, with each of them guarded by a servant summoned by her master. She was assigned to guard the eastern tower, while the Assasin was assigned the northern tower. She had never known nor met the guardian of the southern tower (the Advisor— _Karna_ ; what was the point of calling themselves with titles anyway?), but the western one… she had grown fond with her through these months of working together—

“She is a liability now, more than ever. She trusts you enough to let her guard down around you, and so… you will bring me the proof of her death.”

—and panick, she did. She just hoped that it did not show on her face as she frantically pleaded to delay the inevitable, “You know her more than I have ever known, how much coaxing she  _needs_. Give me three days, master.”

It was a poor bargain, considering the looming threats hanging over their heads.  _That servant_  would easily sway the opinions of people, if by some sort of miracle, the brothers managed to rescue her, people would easily revolt, only with the whispers from those lips.

And yet.

“Three days, Marie, and no longer,” he replied decisively, leaving no room for arguments… or even anything that expressed her surprise. “I will not tolerate failure, not about this. Dismissed.”

The room disappeared in red and black before she could even inquire more, changed into the scenery that made her own audience chamber. Her blue eyes distantly gazed at the closed door that would have led her outside. Months ago, the servant of the western tower would appear beyond it, greeting her with courtesy, and then dragging her to meet with the people that she was ordered to protect. They would enjoy the hustle-bustle that made the townspeople  _alive_.

Weeks after, Marie was ordered to capture that woman, then to jail her in her own tower.

Today, she was ordered to execute the said woman.

“You could have done this yourself,” she murmured, and no one answered. Good, no one needed to. “You could have ordered her to kill herself, and yet you asked me to do it.”

There was another person who once looked at her with that soft look. His name was Charles-Henri Sanson, the man who beheaded her… and was crowned with the guilt for doing so—for becoming the executioner of the last Queen of France (of the sunshine that lighted people’s life, including his own).

 _Ah_.

“Do you love her too?”


	6. walking the talk / karna

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> " _Karna_ ," Nakula started, uttering the name that was his own and yet _not_ , "was the adopted Prince of Panchala. Brother to Shikandi, Draupadi, and Dhristadyumna. Brother-in-law to the Pandava. The mentor of my brother, Arjuna. A fierce Kshatriya worthy  _of glory_ , had he not been eclipsed by the gleaming endeavors of my elder brothers. A most adept advisor. And lastly, _a Scourge of War_ , by Lord Indra's decree."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is for Mochi. Thank you for your patience.

He was glad of the opportunity to patrol with Nakula.

From the moment they entered this singularity, he could not help but have an odd feeling like a song written in another scale—a right composition, but not the _frequency_. Perhaps this was because of how Nakula moved and acted differently from how Karna remembered.

Everything was so wrong, yet _right,_ and Karna wanted to find out why.

People said that, between the brothers, Sahadeva was given with the grace of clairvoyance—the ability to listen to the stars weaving fates of everyone, and thus, to listen to the thoughts of many minds—but Karna doubted the truth of it, for the first thing that Nakula said to him when he paused for a break was this: "You are confused, on how everything seemed different from what you had remembered."

The words given by that old Kurta seller returned to his thought: a red-haired Court Advisor who resembled too much like him. Karna never remembered people of his life having such characteristic, particularly in the Kuru court. Karna only nodded at Nakula's proclamation, concluding the quaint oddities here and there.

"Yes. The towers, at first. Then the one whom people referred to as the Court Advisor. And finally, the two of you," he admitted, blue eyes glancing with a modicum of curiosity (though he wondered if the man would perceive it so; perhaps Nakula would look at him and saw _distrust_  instead, considering their less than affable association). 

It was in this moment that the youngest Pandava stopped his trot. Karna followed suit just next to him, carefully examining his surrounding to make sure that they were in a safe spot (they _were_ ; lacking his presence detection may be, Karna sensed nothing past his own strength of mana). Not long after, Nakula settled to lean over a teak tree not far from where they stood, dark eyes facing azure, much to Karna's surprise... as if Nakula was about to impart a knowledge that will turn the world upside down.

"Because _this_ ," he extended his arms to emphasize the world around them, " _this_ is not the world you were born _in_. It is one born from pulling one string out of order—or so Krishna explained when he appeared before us through our vision. Tell me, _Kshatriya_ , who are you in your lifetime?"

Blue eyes glinted with pride. "I was Karna, son of Adhirata and Radheya. But before that, I was Vasusena. And later, I was known as the friend of Duryodhana, the King of Anga, the Hero of Charity."

A breath, a glance from Nakula, coaxing him to go on, and then a sigh. As much as he was glad of his life ( _glad_ , rather than proud; the accomplishments which he was allowed to do was born from the many hands that shaped his fate, and Karna will not discredit them, be they his friends' or foes'), it was one filled not only with loyalty, but also _tragedy (_ it _was_  a tragedy, at least that was what his master thought, but could he deem his life so when all he felt about it was _utmost acceptance and gratitude_ for the everything that happened in his life?).

"Much later, after I died at Kurukshetra, I was revealed as the elder brother of the Pandavas. I have accepted those titles and names, for they are proofs of my endeavor to be the best Kshatriya I could be, despite the limitations that I have foolishly invited upon myself."

There were many things that Karna could have said then—the relevant truths pertaining himself and his rival... the middle half-brother with whom he shared a rivalry with—but Nakula cut his intent with a hum of acknowledgment. Ebony eyes once again locked with his own sky blue, as the man spoke once more.

" _Karna_ ," Nakula started, uttering the name that was his own and yet _not_ , "was the adopted Prince of Panchala. Brother to Shikandi, Draupadi, and Dhristadyumna. Brother-in-law to the Pandava. The mentor of my brother, Arjuna. A fierce Kshatriya worthy  _of glory_ , had he not been eclipsed by the gleaming endeavors of my elder brothers. A most adept advisor. And lastly, _a Scourge of War_ , by Lord Indra's decree."

Those dark eyes glinted with scrutiny, wanting the other man to understand. And Karna solemnly did, just like he acknowledged the confession of his blood-mother about his pedigree. “This is not the world that I have lived through.”

Nakula, solemnly nodded, brown eyes glinting with acknowledgment, "Correct. Thus, you must remember always that every face that you meet here... they are simply not the people who you know in past life, at all. It is with sentimentality that the Usurper King overthrew Kuru. Do not fall for such a trick.”

* * *

The midnight air was cool, despite the afternoon temperate weather, making Karna wonder if another storm was brewing somewhere, waiting for the worst moment to hit. Considering how bad it was on their first day, Karna wished that it was not so; another storm meant another delay, and for some reasons, his instinct had been prompting him to hurry, before everything became too late. _'But what',_  he asked himself, eyes gazing straight at the shadows dancing in the wood, cast by the tall teaks and cedars, ' _what actions can they take_?'

They were already down by one person, even though two had joined their little team. While he had given his words to his master that the twins would not cause them trouble, Nakula's words still rang in his head like a stubborn crust: if this was not the world he came from, then it was imperative to question Nakula's and Sahadeva's motivation to help them. They had claimed that they were guided by Krishna's words... that alone warranted a measure of wariness.

Krishna always moved with a bigger picture at hand, after all, assuming that he was of the same nature as the one from Karna's legend.

As he idly considered what that person's presence meant in this mission, the door to Emiya's room slowly opened (they unanimously decided to move Emiya to the second bedroom, where the Shielder was supposed to sleep in). Arjuna walked out, ebony eyes glinting with restrained steel and both shoulders tauter than what Karna used to see. And they became even stiffer, or so Karna imagined when those eyes met his own, and the Lancer could not help these passing thoughts: _will our engagement be forever shadowed with that admission? That you have been seeking peace and found none? That I would do everything to grant you peace, even if it meant interfering into battles that you had to go through alone_ _?_

_Who do you require me to be, now, Arjuna?_

Arjuna quietly moved to sit next to him, each step grinding those thoughts one by one, until Karna could only focus on the Archer's aversion to locking gaze again. The Archer opted to looked out to the forest outside instead, through the front door that had been intentionally left open. Silence descended like a heavy blanket, one that Karna was adamant not to be lulled into but _admitted_ that the other person required it for as long as he needed. So he waited, patiently, like a hunter waiting for the right moment to fell his game.

"They are not the brothers who grow up with me. Have you realized this?"

_Ah, we start the matter with the reality at hand_ , Karna mused, blue eyes glancing still at the other. Arjuna did not look back still, despite having started the conversation himself. _Why?_  

"...Yes, I have confirmed this with Nakula," he answered plainly, his words made of bluntness that knew no mercy. "He also said that it was Krishna who guides them."

A flinch, a flex of shoulder,  _a tension buried so deeply that it became thought of its own_. Arjuna turned, then, and Karna found it surprising to see moroseness instead of enmity (he was expecting something akin to rage, considering that was the name of a side that Arjuna harbored and repressed, for the sake of his legend— _the same one Karna killed for the sake of his brother_ ). "And Sahadeva told me that he had _Ascended [1]_... and that in order for their objectives can be accomplished, they have to take down the Usurper King."

_The Usurper King; the one who ascended to the throne of Kuru due to the absences of its rightful rulers; the one who claimed as Arjuna, declaring to the masses how Indra had saved him in the midst of the War; how he quietly drove Nakula and Sahadeva away from their rightful homes; how he had sent away the queen mother, his own wife, and those who had stood against him, to exile; how he had ruled Kuru with cold hand, bringing prosperity like any other rulers had been, befitting the man who had worn the shining diadem of Indraloka and ruled it justly_.

There were many facts about the ruling king that Nakula told him during their return to their basecamp, and yet, the fact that _the King might be Arjuna of this world_ stuck with him the most. From this fleeting recollection, a new thought resurfaced, one that was spoken before he could even stop his tongue: "Do you fear him, Arjuna?"

Arjuna snapped his attention back, a restrained rage flashing in those dark eyes as if challenging the other to give _one more insult_ so that he can fight back, with justice. "I have no reason to fear someone who has already given up the path of a Kshatriya."

He could have mocked the rebuke then, knowing each and every word that Arjuna spoke reeked _lies_  (he could see the trembling, the tautness, _the fear of facing a possible outcome in which Arjuna chose to be a King of men instead of a Kshatriya; a_   _King for his subjects—but not for his family_ ). But Karna opted the higher ground, blue eyes gleaming with compassion instead of judgment.

"There is nothing to fear, I agree," he said, [the words of his double ringing in his ears:[2]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13979064/chapters/32529561) ' _in what capacity will you put yourself before him?'_

He recalled the feeling of death greeting _Krishna_ , the deliverance that he brought to Arjuna's doors (even when the latter had not realized this yet), the darkness he burned away because _how can no one see his sufferings, his insecurities, his shame, his guilt—_

—Karna selfishly wished to protect his brother _from himself_.

"You have stood up against yourself, once. You will do it again—and I will be there to help you if you require it."

Perhaps it was the surprised face that Arjuna made, the embarrassed blush decorating those dark cheeks, or the ' _don't joke with me_ ' grumbling. Whichever caused it, the gnawing feeling at his gut subsided... and Karna was able to breathe easily.

Perhaps he had done the right thing. 

He knew that only time will tell.

* * *

Emiya regained consciousness two days after his fall. He was banned by Sahadeva from moving around too much, but the red-clad Archer did not give a damn and claim a spot next to Ritsuka during the morning briefing. The weather was clear, much to Karna's relief, even when the news that Nakula brought was far from pleasing.

"Krishna wants us to kidnap the Guardian of Western Tower. He claims that her presence will make overthrowing the usurpers easier," he had, brown eyes looking back at them with tension, "I have heard that she had been secretly rallying resistances to rebel against the order, despite her position. The king eventually found out and sentenced her to jail. She is slated to be executed today."

"Then we attack before they transport her to the gallows," Emiya pointed out, "we do distractions around the perimeter of Southern and Eastern Tower. That way, their forces will run thin, particularly on the west side."

No one argued with the red-clad Archer servant, because the plan was simple enough for everyone to follow. However, they did argue on the team division, particularly when Emiya insisted to be included in the operation _at all_. Nakula had been the most vocal, claiming that wounded personnel would only slow down the rescue mission, and Emiya wasted no breath to counter such flimsy argument by projecting multiple Kanshou-Bakuya swords if only to prove that _he's capable of fighting_.

Then Sahadeva took one step and easily sliced those swords in two, their constructs easily deteriorating upon his sub-par swordsmanship (subpar, because he and his twin brother were more adept in governing and craftsmanship, rather than fighting).

"It is evident that you have not recovered well. As the only passing medic in this little team of ours, I forbid you from going." Sahadeva stated with a voice much subtler than he was used to, dark eyes glinting with unsaid threats. If everyone in the vicinity froze a moment, recalling the passing image of one nurse in Chaldea, Karna would not fault them; the youngest of the Pandava had the penchant of reading anyone's fortune through the words spoken by the stars. If he decided to disclose the inevitability of a catastrophe befalling to one person, then surely it was as if he had cursed that person for all his life, waiting for a divine decree that would come to pass. If that was not enough to deter Emiya from going against Sahadeva's words... well, suffice to say that Karna's respect for the man grew.

In the end, Karna was assigned for extraction mission, while Arjuna and Mash were positioned around the Eastern and Southern Towers respectively. Nakula and Sahadeva were tasked to sow confusion among the ranks of the White General, which were conveniently assigned to guard the procession. That left Emiya and Ritsuka at the basecamp, and Karna really hoped that they were not concocting some stupid plans to ruin this ( _as if_ ; with Emiya's strategic aptitude and Ritsuka's practical thinking, Karna wouldn't be too surprised if they suddenly decide to crash on the execution).

It was three days after their haphazard retreat when they decided to carry on their objectives. The Lancer positioned himself from afar, but near enough for him to close in if the situation required. The spot was on top of a lesser sentry tower (this time, he did take care to hide himself from bare eyes), from where he could observe the execution procession in its entirety: the line of soldiers that barred the citizen of Hastinapura from the propped platform; Marie Antoinette standing stiffly, just by the edge of the platform, and lastly; the woman whom he would be rescuing.

The woman, in particular, was chained to the propped platform, with several of them binding her neck, her folded arms, her waist, her thighs, and her feet. They forced her to bend low, her long, braided dark hair hiding her face from view.

If there was a nagging feeling of familiarity, Karna decisively ignored it for the time being. Having met the people who were of his memories-but-not, it was only natural to encounter people whom he had known in his life. That and Karna cannot afford any distractions to carry out his mission. So he patiently observed, looking for any opportunities to barge in—

—and he moved in reflex when he noted the smoke and flames rising among Marie's ranks. The traps that Nakula and Sahadeva had sneaked into the ranks had kicked in, providing enough cover for him to launch right into the commotion and set his target free. She staggered on his feet, at her subsequent freedom and the disarray around them, and then turned to face her savior.

There was surprise written all over her face, one that was not caused by the whole situation, but rather by _Karna's presence in this entire situation_. But it quickly faded, out of practicality, and she stepped forward and offered her hand. "You're here at Krishna's behest, correct? Then let's go."

The comment, at least, proved the vision to be real. He and the others had been skeptic about the direction claimed to be given by _that Krishna._ At least now he became even surer of that man's influence in this. With that resolution in mind, Karna quickly pulled her close and carried her in bridal style (had they not been amidst in the middle of hostiles, he would have asked permission first. Marie's disgruntled screeching, along with the sound of breaking glasses, prompted him to burn his mana and _leaped_   _away,_ taking them over the wall—to the direction of the forest.

Curiously, the woman in his arms made no sound, though she fastened her over his nape to secure her position.

When he landed on the ground, right before the outskirt of the forest, Karna wasted no time running in the direction of their basecamp. He had knowingly raised his own presence, in hopes of scaring any beasts, divine or earthly alike, away. It worked tremendously, considering how devoid of life the path to their checkpoint was... which begged another question.

But before he could even voice it, _blue eyes twinkling with genuine curiosity_ , the woman only raised her ebony eyes ( _why were they so damn familiar?_ ) and made a knowing smirk, "you will have your explanation when we reach our destination. I promise you this."

So he held his tongue and carried forward. 

The rest of their travel was spent in silence until he finally stopped at the entrance of the Pandava's old home. They were both greeted by the sight of Arjuna and Mash at the front door (he was glad that they arrived earlier than he did; it meant that, for once, their plan went as expected), turning to Karna's direction if only to acknowledge his presence. It looked as if there was nothing wrong until the Lancer noticed Arjuna's paling face... and how the woman in his arms _effortless_ released herself from his hold.

He thought he was hallucinating, but she seemed to glow in mirth and mischief, so much that even the ragged commoner  _kurta_  was unable to hide her _eminence_. She smiled, one that spoke nothing of  _ordinary,_ and shattered everyone's misconception with a most hurried greeting:

"My name is Brihannala, Storm General, Guardian of the Western Tower. While I am grateful to all of you for saving my life, I fear that we have no time to waste. Please, let me meet with your master, Ritsuka Fujimaru."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some.... references.....
> 
>   1. _Ascended_ here means [Moksha](https://www.britannica.com/topic/moksha-Indian-religion)
>   2. Reference to ['a name that losses its purpose', chapter 3](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13979064/chapters/32529561)
> 

> 
> You may scream with me in [Twitter](https://twitter.com/masamune11).


	7. fantasy / emiya

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I am Brihannala, a servant under Krishna's guidance... much like how my brothers were guided by him too. I can see recognition in your eyes, red Kshatriya, and yes, I confirm that my spirit origin is that of Arjuna's."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I deeply apologize for taking this long to update the fic. My work life has been hectic and... this particular chapter has to be revised for a multitude of times because my papamiya muse refuses to follow the path laid before him. So I have to change the plot a bit -- and my writing finally gets _somewhere_.
> 
> This time is a 3k-words monster. Oh boy, I should really start writing short. 
> 
> Un-beta'ed yet, but reviewed to the best of my ability (which is not that good, but hopefully adequate to your taste).
> 
> Finally, without further ado, please enjoy.

There were many things that he detested, but Emiya loathed being helpless the most. He had always been a very determined and resourceful man, always striving for the best outcome possible (granted, that determination of his brought him to his gallows). Therefore, when Sahadeva plainly made his point by smashing his projected Kanshou and Bakuya through disrupting the composition of his crafts (that was no basic move, mind you), he wanted to rebel against this judgment.  _His weapons would hold against normal moves just_ fine.

The very fact that he could trace his weapon meant that the twins had done an excellent job in repairing his spirit origin. There was no reason for them to sit him out, at all. And yet, faced with Sahadeva's cold glare, as chilling as one Greek goddess without her eye-cover, along with a concerned look thrown at his master, Emiya respectfully shut his mouth. For a moment, he stole a glance at his human master, who looked almost dead on his feet.

Considering how his master had witnessed his gruesome fall three days ago, the red-clad Archer could not blame him.

In the end, he agreed to stay behind and took on the guard duty with solemnity, knowing how important this task was yet being unable to push away the gnawing, odd feeling he had of this arrangement. _It was too clean_ , all things considered, as if they were walking into a well-meaning trap without considering their options. Emiya managed to hold his wariness back, at least, until the last of their team members set off. The send-off was modest: Arjuna offering a grim but trusting nod with myriads of emotions hidden behind those eyes ( _were they acknowledgment? Fear? Trust?_ ); Mash pleading softly to keep their master safe (with lilac eyes shadowed by anxiety and worry, as if she too sensed the gnawing wrongness in this overall situation); Karna giving a solemn nod with his blue eyes reflecting utmost trust, and lastly; the brothers launching off not far beyond with a ' _keep him safe!_ '.

As if he would slack off on his job after suffering such a defeating blow. 

Emiya shook his head, as if such a gesture would dispel his guilt (it did not), and followed his master inside. Ritsuka looked frailer than what he remembered, and it prompted him to close in—to pat that shoulder in an effort to assure Ritsuka that everything is under control.

(Such an empty gesture, that was: mission had been delayed for three days already, they had no inkling of the gears that moved the entire system of singularity, the connection between them and Chaldea tethered from weak to non-existent, and they were almost one man down—himself—had it not for the interference of those who were new to their small party. This situation was furthest from his worst scenario, already). 

Much to his alarm and chagrin, Ritsuka toppled over the minimal strength of his tap, and Emiya was forced to step forth and catch his master before he touched the ground.

(He should have taken Mash' position instead. The Demi-Servant was equipped to give exact information regarding his master's condition, unlike he was.)

"I'm fine," the young man had the gall to mutter weakly, to which Emiya only snorted. Had they been in a different situation ( _had Ritsuka resembled the young version of his idealistic, stupid self_ ), he would have manhandled him to the bed without remorse. Emiya helped him walk to his chamber instead, noticing the sleepiness that seemed to engulf his master like a thick blanket, and quickly scanned for any sign of magecraft in the air. Nothing, only the concentrated mana befitting an era where gods and monsters reigned. His master was not burning of fever, at least, so he could rule out infection from diseases.

Stress, then. (And perhaps mana depletion due to over-usage of his reserve.)

"Nonsense," he rebuked, finally taking the initiative to carry his master bridal style while flatly ignoring Ritsuka's embarrassed stuttering. Emiya swiftly laid him on the bed, already forming a checklist of the things that he needed to do. "You're struggling to support us with your severely limited mana pool. We may have formed our contract with you, Master, but it is Chaldea that supports our existences, through you. While Mash may have succeeded connecting this singularity to Chaldea, but that connection is faint, unlike our usual rayshift." 

The red-clad archer managed to huff, stubborn grey eyes meeting with blue ones in equal fervor. Well, at least his master still had the fire to push through (Emiya would not squash this stubbornness—at least not thoroughly; the Chaldean master gained many lessons thanks to that quality and would gain more in the future).

"Do you understand? You have been maintaining us with your own mana, Ritsuka. Each of us had lowered our mana consumption to a minimum, out of our respect for you, but your reservoir has a limit. Now, while everything is in good hands, you have to rest."

He noticed the recognition in his master's eyes, followed after by a soft smile that tugged at his heart— _of care, of respect_ —and caught him off guard. It faded away as soon as Ritsuka hummed in response ( _what did that even mean?_ ), leaving the resident archer hanging with a quizzical look. He shuffled his questions back to the abyss when he noticed his master's breathing evening out, though, and decided to start off with his list of tasks.

First, the kitchen.

* * *

She stormed into the house without notice, so it was only fair when Emiya took the preemptive strike and launched at her with Kanshou and Bakuya at hands, right when the woman took a single step into Ritsuka's room.

She was quick to notice his hostility, avoiding the blow with a graceful sidestep ( _a person with exceptional body reflexes, and judging by the graceful evasion; a gymnast, perhaps, or maybe a dancer_ ). Emiya was already closing in, aiming to disable her knees and arms with a diagonal slash of Kanshou. But the woman had already foreseen his move, countering his act with another sidestep to the far edge of the living room. Her escape was enough to give a breathing space—to dispel the thick wariness in the room, allowing Emiya to make a deeper assessment of this newcomer.

She was clad in a brown, disheveled _kurta_ that hid her magnanimity (he had too many experiences with characters of nobility, enough for him to recognize one). Her long black hair was braided, easily accentuating her presence despite her haphazard look, and she looked at him with the certainty of an Archer. In fact, her glare was so severe that it reminded him of—

"You are his _Kshatriya_?" She cut off his train of thoughts, the tone of her words demanding attention—the tone that was surely imbued with charms from one born of divinity. He had no opportunity to counter it (funny how he was reminded of that one time when Rider— _Medusa_ —caught him in her stunning gaze) and was caught off-guard when she quickly closed and grabbed his left hand. Those ebon eyes glowed red in an instant, raising so many questions in his mind.

Perhaps, they showed in his grey eyes, because the woman's expression turned firm as she placated, "I will explain everything—as we go."

And suddenly, they were _falling_.

(Moments after, he realized that the woman had forced herself into his master-servant connection, hacking into the active mind of his master. Emiya realized this, as they fell from the sky into the arid wasteland below them, and was about to run down his own countermeasures when he noticed how the scenery around him was like the one in Ritsuka's vivid premonition—

—that one time when Emiya watched the meeting of two brothers with his master, among the fading corpses of servants.)

They easily broke their fall, Emiya with his rough practicality and the woman with the grace befitting of a dancer. She glanced at him with consideration, as if she would impart the most heartbreaking truth of all.

She started by revealing one staggering fact.

"I am Brihannala, a servant under Krishna's guidance... much like how my brothers were guided by him too. I can see recognition in your eyes, red _Kshatriya_ , and yes, I confirm that my spirit origin is that of Arjuna's."

He could have summoned his Kanshou and Bakuya then, calling out on her preposterous bullshit _right there_ (the whole situation was too good to be true; how could they go from having no allies at all to getting three in less than a week?). Before he could even utter his voice, however, the ground under his feet rumbled, with thunder raging at the distance. The woman's attention was already honed to the direction of that sound, the undercurrent of her mana building up as if she was a storm in the making... ready to strike at any given notice.

"We have to save your master, dear _Kshatriya_. Quickly."

She burst away, blue thunder racing with each step, and Emiya just wondered in awe of the intricacy that was Arjuna's legend. He loosely followed her trail, racking his brain as he tried to process the legend behind this Mahabharatan Hero (Heroine now, he supposed?): there was an occurrence that required Arjuna to hide as a eunuch for a year, not a woman. 

And yet, here she was.

Honestly, she was a wild card and Emiya needed to ascertain her allegiance, quickly.

His little train of thoughts was quickly cut off once more when they have arrived at the edge of a field full of swords. _His swords._ They evoked questions of their own, piling on top of his growing dread of the whole situation: why would Ritsuka dreamt of this arid landscape belonging to him, who would intrude into this space—

—there was the sound of bullets ripping through the air. Emiya swiftly summoned his Black-White blades and deflected them with ease, his attention coalescing to look out for hostiles. Brihannala remained on her track, which meant the distractions were solely for him (that could change in a heartbeat, yes, but then Emiya had already moved to avoid another barrage of bullets).

And yet, looking how easily her mana burnt and obliterated the fake sword in her path, Emiya would understand his hostile's reluctant attempt to stop her at all. Well, not that the Archer would give his enemy the opportunity to stall them at all.

(There was a deep-seated tension in the middle of... _this_ , one that drew Brihannala like a moth to a flame. The wishful part of him wanted to witness— _to observe_ —the outcome of this clash, but the pragmatic part of him ushered him to cover the bases: to save his master before he's caught in the fallout—for the foreign presence existing in the middle of this dreamscape was of great power.

Ritsuka had no capability to conjure this.)

The Red Archer made his way to where the sniper is, deflecting more bullets as he went through. They left a tang of magecraft as they blew away at his projections, much to Emiya's surprise. More questions rose up in his mind, but Emiya practically withheld them in favor of launching his own strike at his enemy.

The sniper was already within his own firing range, after all.

So Emiya decided.

There was the whisper of his chant, the silent summoning of his bow and the rainbow sword of Eire's legend, and then the sound of friction as his broken phantasm launched away to the place where his enemy resided. Caladbolg rushed in blinding red before exploding in fiery crimson and heat, so unfitting to the name it carried, and left out scorched earth—and a man.

When this enigma first shot him to oblivion, Emiya hardly noticed the killing shot, having been shot from the back himself. As he fell, however, he saw the gleam of red fabric billowing in the air—the same one that draped around his shoulders, covering half of his face. Caladbolg had burnt the red away, revealing those spiky white hair, the face of a dead man with a hollowed gaze (where had that warmth gone to? what happened?)—

—he had vowed never to be the weak man that failed to hold anything in his hands, and yet, under the gaze of the man that made him, it was as if he is _Shiro_ once again.

"What have you done, Kiritsugu?"

(The Hero of Justice who had chosen the best for the majority, whose life ended because of his ideal, would have never asked such a weak question. He would have gritted his lips and spit, would have quietly summoned his weapons and pushed through without thought, would have considered his master's safety over his own personal ties.

Perhaps he had been wrong. Perhaps he had failed that idea, after all, because Emiya felt as powerless as the child that he once was, buried under the debris of destruction during that fateful night of black fire.)

He wouldn't dare to say that there was a shift in the sniper's countenance, in the way that hollowed eyes seemed to recognize his voice as if he remembered the night Kiritsugu saved him. It could as well be a trick of the eye, for Kiritsugu's lips thinned in inconvenience. The man had already moved to point his rifle at him, gaze still as dead.

But then, the same lips upturned to a smirk, spilling words of practicality instead of misfortune, "You know your designation, _Counter Guardian_ , and I know mine. Do your duty."

It was always been about duty, wasn't it?

 

 

Far away from where they stood, among the empty swords that razed the land, blue thunder clashed against black-red fire.

* * *

Their clash was one messy affair.

Frankly, Emiya had already considered the chance of interference from his allies, but he clearly had underestimated the scale of such. His face off against the red Assassin (Kiritsugu dared to disclose his class during their clash) started orderly: a bullet to disable, a quick parry to defend, a knife throw to injure, a deep slash once more to immobilize. Every move was dispensed to measure each other's mettle and to look for any openings. It would have looked like a dance, fatal might it be, and the small part of him would have believed that this could have had happened, had the man's life last longer—

—then came the raging flame, the fire of _Brahmastra_.

He was quick to avoid the blow (eventually, he found out that it had been a misfire— _a real loose fire that could have obliterated him_ ), shielding himself behind his haphazard _Rho Aias_. The smell of molten iron and earth filled his nostrils, and the air tasted like supercharged ozone. And in this chaos, he could not find where his enemy was.

But now, he was aware of the man who was Brihannala's match.

Standing amidst the molten hell was that same man that Emiya saw in his vision. The same servant, yet not. For one, red was never the color that graced Karna's hair, nor was the black-red coat that hung from his person, the edge of it touching the ground which had transformed into that liquid evil of his past, a contortion born from the evils of humanity. The servant looked up at her, defiance embedded deep in those mismatched eyes as if to challenge her. Come, rain down your fury, punish me as you deem fit.

She did.

There were two odd moments that threw his senses haywire: the liquid evil from that quickly coalesced from the ground to prop the hidden form of Ritsuka's, and then scream belonging to that Assassin as he cut the distance between them (was that a time-based magecraft?). Then came the sound of thunder, the smell of ozone, and, finally, the lightning strike. These moments lingered, only broken away when Brihannala realized that she had put the owner of this dreamscape in mortal peril—

—but the blow diverted away, deflected by the dark matter that weaved around the red-haired servant. He wavered where he stood, the tendrils of evil around him quickly gaining sentience. Ritsuka was still next to him, still a risk to be mitigated soon. So Emiya ran despite the horrid landscape, wary of his own steps as he closed the distance between them.

Maybe Kiritsugu had control over time not only pertaining to himself, but also to those around him, because everything felt so slow: how Kiritsugu suddenly appeared out of nowhere, his knife aimed to stab the body of his own master, how the red-haired man's awareness flickered to existence, how an assassination was stopped with a firm grasp around the wrist and, from that one moment, how a question was told in a single, vicious breath:

" _You dare_?"

(There was coldness in that voice, one that spoke of a thousand misery and hate; a coldness that spoke of _inhumanity_.)

"Come now, _Karna_ ," He replied, ironic jest lacing that baritone, "we both know that it is only time before you move against me."

From then on, everything moved so _fast._ His hand was suddenly glowing with light, but Emiya knew better that there was a construct there, floating over his palm. There were so many _sounds_ : Kiritsugu's frantic spell-casting, Karna's— _it really was that Hero of Charity_ —screeching, Brihannala's own voice from afar as she recounted whatever moves she had in mind—

—for Emiya, they meant nothing, not when he was already closing in to move Ritsuka away from danger. Thus when everything was thrown to chaos—when Kiritsugu's construct expanded, Karna's blackened mana clashed against Brihannala's shield of thunder—he made the necessary dive to grab his master and, with every speck of mana reserve he had, crafted _Rho Aias_ to bend around them. He prayed, to the first master whom he sold his fate—to the _World_ that had made him a _Counter Guardian_ and had put him _at this spot_ —that this was enough.

 

 

Everything faded to white.


	8. (intermission) know that i love you / (King) Arjuna

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Hi."
> 
> Arjuna could have smacked his esteemed brother for worrying him, but the king settled with a tight hug. If his brother gasped for air from the tightness of it, the king rightfully believed that the man deserved it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, enjoy this intermission before we move on.
> 
> Reviewed to my best ability.

Arjuna started his day with an emergency assembly and a stormy mood. 

Today marked the day when one of his– _their_ –general is to be executed for treason. Several security measures had been arranged to quell any attempts of an uprising, or any belligerent moves at all. The point of this meeting was to straighten accountability and, if needed, put fear into the hearts of some key persons of interests (some of his courtiers were sympathizers of the Storm General after all; it wouldn't do if they have plans to usurp the current rule). And yet the very person who had suggested the idea was missing from the assembly.

His beloved's face was nowhere to be found among the crowd of his court.

The King eventually found out from one of the man's pageboy that the man had been cooped up in his room and that he was last seen with the Red General (Karna deserved better servant than that man, a walking risk that could blow in their face soon; Arjuna just hoped that he would be there to obliterate him personally). That information prompted him to dismiss the assembly, leaving a grumbling and confused crowd in its wake (no, the King certainly cared not of his court's grumbling; Karna will always take priority over _anytihng_ ), and Arjuna did not wait for his attendants to escort him to the chamber of his brother's.

Karna told him once that he loved heights for its view—for the scenery of the world beneath him, moving in accordance to fate's whims—and chose his chamber accordingly when the both of them ascended to power. It was not surprising that he picked the one at the top of the highest building in Hastinapura, overlooking the eastern part of the city. _'The morning sunlight falls just right on my eyes'_ , he once told him, a quiet murmur traded during their shared company in those wakeful nights when Karna was too soaked in his vision to rebuild the world, _'It's as if Father greets me in person.'_

(Arjuna remembered the sadness looming over that blue eye, meeting his own dark ones—a regret for something he had done before everything. He'd noticed that look anywhere because such was the face made by their mother as she kept her worst secret. At that moment, he wished that he had the power to clear it away.)

The King hated his advisor's decision choice right then. The staircase leading to that room seemed endless, fueling his worry further. When he finally arrived by the front of it, devoid of the guards who usually stood by the door (they would have to answer to him for their negligence), Arjuna wasted no time to barge in (after not showing up at the emergency assembly, Karna deserved this intrusion) and was ready to start his scolding—

There was his advisor at the center of the room, kneeling on fours and gasping for air like a drowning man. Another thing that alerted Arjuna, however, was the flicker in his presence, decomposing at the demand of the natural world. The anger in him quietly died, leaving fear in its wake, as he quickly closed in unto his beloved. Karna was not aware of his presence, all of his attention focused to keep himself existing  _here_ , defying the natural order that the World had established.

(After all, they were the anomalies. Arjuna had accepted this when he decided to walk together with this man after all—to create a world where they could stay together.)

Even after the younger of them softly shook his shoulders, Karna remained unaware, the pace of his degradation increasing at an alarming rate. It was clear that the situation was slipping out of control, much to his dismay, so Arjuna had to take an extreme measure (even when he knew firsthand that Karna would reproach him for this).

At the end of the day, they were all made of mana that opposed the natural world. Thus, to keep him from falling apart, Arjuna simply had to pour it into Karna's system more quickly than its escape rate. In a normal circumstance, he would not be able to do this (to start with, conjuring this world altogether required an insane amount of mana; that alone told the depth of Karna's mana altogether), but they still had that last minute sleight of hand.

Quietly, Arjuna pushed the latter to lay on the ground, his right hand outstretching as if he was about to launch his Noble Phantasm. What appeared before him however was not a ball of light, but rather... a construct that shone in gold, looking like a broken piece of a gold cup holder. 

'A _part of the holy grail,'_  Karna once told him as he gifted him the golden construct before they started their conquest.

His beloved absorbed the overflowing mana like a sponge, each drawn moment making his stomach churn. He closed his eyes in desperation, the gnawing fear finally catching up with his thoughts, tearing down his defenses:  _What if it does not work? What if the problem is worse than what they can face? What if_ —

—there was a hand on his face, warm and alive, and it was enough to snap his eyes open. Karna's mismatched eyes looked back at him, an endearing smile on his face as if there was no life-threatening situation, to begin with— _as if his beloved was just sleeping, and now waking up after an eventful night._

"Hi."

Arjuna could have smacked his esteemed brother for worrying him, but the king settled with a tight hug. If his brother gasped for air from the tightness of it, the king rightfully believed that the man deserved it.

* * *

By the end of Brihannala's execution, Arjuna's mood had turned from sour to livid. The only thing that kept him from ordering Marie's death was his beloved's sure grip on his shoulder, with the said man standing next to him by the throne. There was no trace of surprise in his eyes as if he had foreseen this terrible loss and exposure. Brihannala once served as a charismatic general who easily moved the hearts of people with her kindness and empathy, much like how he himself drove them with prosperity. Her exile, prior to her death penalty, almost destabilized his rule; surely her escape would cause an uprising.

Arjuna should have executed her himself,  _shouldn't have heeded the counsel of his advisor, at least this once_ —

—for a moment, his vision swam, as if someone had nudged him to  _sleep_. There was the color of  _red and black_ , a sting where Karna's palm met with his shoulder, and later, the irritation flowing out of his system, coaxing it to get out  _without his consent_. _He still wanted to keep that rage with him_ — 

(And yet, Arjuna couldn't help but rejoice, even when he noted how unnatural this reaction was—how it defied _who he was_ —

— _He was and would always be the person whom Karna needed him to be. Was that not his purpose?_ )

"There is nothing to stress over, Arjuna. Even with the escape Storm General, the failure of our White General," Karna seemed to pause for dramatics... or maybe, he wanted to fish a reaction from the Rider kneeling before them, "the betrayal of our Shadow General, we still have one card to play. Our plan stays."

The air seemed to stale at the words of his advisor—and it was not without reason. Arjuna knew what monster this man hid away—and it would appear that judging from Marie's tense form before them, the White General was already aware of the insidious matter at hand.

It was not that he feared the plan; he feared that everything that they had endeavored so far, the drastic steps that they had taken in favor of their ambition, would unravel at the seams when this fails. 

"Karna," he breathed, softly, for once imploring—pleading, "If this fails, I—”

The red-haired man was already kneeling by his side, fingers lightly covering his lips, while his other hand gently grasped upon Arjuna's trembling hand (was he ever this weak?). There was a kiss on his forehead, gentle like a butterfly landing, and finally a sincere smile, "It will not, but in the event that it does, know that I love you."

' _I do too_ ', he wanted to say, but his lips thinned instead, refusing to say the words that made him as he was. He nodded instead, his royal authority coming back in full force as he gulped the unsettling lump in his throat, and spoke, "then go with my blessing. Deliver my order to the Mad General and have him cut down the betrayers, the chaos sowers, the singularities."

Karna lowered his head in reverence, a soft murmur of acceptance and gratitude, and then looked up to him with those bewitching red-blue eyes.

"It will be as you order, my King."

Karna's words remained with him, like a soothing hymn that lingered to heal his heart. They were so confident, so believable that Arjuna simply accepted it as is. But then his advisor turned away, the soft red-black cape ruffling as that man walked away with that Rider Servant, and a part of him knew that the price of their dream had just climbed higher.

He desperately hoped that it will not cost either of them.

* * *

The Southern Tower reeked with malice, taking the form or blackened mist surrounding the structure, so much that even he could spot it from Karna's room (he had canceled all of his audience for the day and locked himself inside his brother's room). It lingered around like a sinister miasma—a cacophony of hatred of misery, welling out from the son of the sun whose fate had been deprived of the love of his life, whose hands cut down the many lives destined for greatness yet saw nothing of peace, who chose to fall so that he may create his own destiny as he desired.

And from beneath such power, a grey figure emerged, flying across the sky of Hastinapura with a most heart-rending screech. _The Mad General_.  _The Last Wielder of the Divine Armaments._

His worry settled like lead, immovable and haunting, as he looked at the trail of evil that the abomination made. He would be searching for the betrayer first, following Karna's wish to cull the unfaithful. Then that woman. Then the guardians of that far-from-home human master. This weapon of theirs will not falter against each and every one of them.

And yet why did his heart tremble still?

"Please... Please, let us have our happy ending for once."


	9. muddy waters / arjuna

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "...very well, _Brihannala_ , I'll bite. _For now_." he muttered, gaze hardened with underlying threats, "but if your allegiance to our master quivers— _if you so much become the threat to Master—_ I will shoot you down myself."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOWDY HO! It has been... almost two months since I last updated? Whoops? I did hit a major writing block, unfortunately, and, to be honest, I don't really like writing this chapter... but then again, building the middle of the plot has always been my greatest weakness.
> 
> That, and I have been finishing FFXV and the second book of Aru Shah, on top of my work. Apparently I... need to jumpstart my imagination quite _much_.
> 
> But anyway.
> 
> As usual, this chapter is proofread to the limit of my abilities. If you find some wordings weird or something, and wish to let me know, contact me via comment or via my Twitter: @masamune11.
> 
> Without further ado, please enjoy.

From the very first moment they locked eyes, Arjuna had an inkling that she would become _a problem._

 _Brihannala_ , she said, and Arjuna saw the surprise in Karna's eyes and the puzzlement in Mash'. He was taken aback as well; it was one thing to encounter an iteration of himself from another tale, and another thing altogether to have met an alternate take of himself, _in a different gender_. She moved swiftly, displaying the grace that earned her the position of a dance master ( _the same feat, the same_ _performance_ ), avoiding much-needed inquiries by entering their premise. Only when the air turned supercharged and the sound of broken furniture reached his ears that he finally shook away from awe ( _was it charisma? charm?_ ).

He remembered cursing internally for being lax, while he entered the room where his master rest, witnessing how she closed in towards and Emiya—and fell to the ground, followed after by the Archer too.

That would make three unconscious bodies in their little base, with little explanation.

Mash was already moving to check on the three, prioritizing their master first without fail. That left him with the two servants on the ground, out cold and... stable, as far as his limited sense told him. He was more worried about the flickering sign of his master's awareness between their already-tenuous master-servant bond.

(He admitted that he had withdrawn himself from Arjuna's probing ever since that incident, out of shame and _out of fear for his master's life_.)

Judging by the worried look of the Shielder, Arjuna knew that it was not his imagination.

"My brothers, my friends, I ask you, please leave them be for a while."

Sahadeva's cut through the tense silence with surety and _appeasement_. Had it been anyone else, Arjuna would have shot them where they stood for uttering such nonsense. But Sahadeva had always been one who's able to see matters differently (even when this Sahadeva was not of his legend), so Arjuna deferred to his judgment. His brother asked them to shift the unconscious servants to a more comfortable position. Thus, Arjuna dragged the body of his double to lean against the bed, where his master was laid (he'd seen curiosity in those blue eyes of his rival's and preemptively chose to deal with this; Arjuna would rather burn in Agniloka first before he let Karna indulge with his curiosity), while Karna moved Emiya's body next to her.

Sahadeva had also asked them to wait outside for a while, so they did.

(The only thing that kept his patience in check, despite the growing number of questions in his head, was Karna's fixed presence. He would not admit this out loud, but his—dare he say?— _brother_  had not shown any signs of distress through this whole ordeal.

Another thing that Arjuna would never voice out loud: he had been a mess since the start of his journey, the history around him weighing on his conscience; the throne that the Pandavas took over was bathed with blood of the wicked and the just, no matter how valid their cause was, and Arjuna admitted, quietly, the existence of this singularity called out to some memories best buried in seven-feet under.)

Sahadeva had allowed Mash' presence in the room since she was equipped to observe their master's condition. That left the living room with Karna, who had recalled his cape and weapon (to conserve their master's supply, he presumed; it puzzled Arjuna why the Lancer had not assumed spirit form instead) and had opted to sit in the corner, Nakula, who had been glancing back and forth among them while leaning next to the door, and himself.

The silence among them felt like a suffocating blanket. Patience might have been his virtue, but even Arjuna knew that under a dire situation like this one, _some explanations were in order_.

"You fail to tell us that the defector is _of my spirit origin_ ," he blurted sharply and almost regretted the outburst. Nakula flinched under the weight of his accusation and... Surprisingly Karna gave him a reproachful glance in return as if aggressively asking to let the youngest of them have some slack. In a far less unsettling situation, Arjuna would have taken great care with his attitude, but there was already an _Arjuna_ , at the center of this singularity, who warranted their attention. They certainly needed no more wildcards to deal with.

But Nakula recovered soon after, the doubt that gnawed in his resolve clearing away. ' _There is a valid reason for this mess_ ,' his gaze seemed to say, and perhaps that was what prompted Karna to defend the youngest among them. He steeled himself, dark eyes calmly looking at Arjuna's with determination. "Lord Krishna was quite specific in his counsel, that you are not to know until Brihannala announces herself. I apologize for not being forward with all of you, but this... omission, for the lack of better words, is necessary."

 _Necessary_. Before the face of The Preserver, nothing would ever be wrong— _would ever be adharma as long as one has his approval_. Arjuna had stood strong because the god-incarnate took a stand with him, and now that he's nowhere near... His faith eluded him like a slippery eel while his heart wavered under the weight of nostalgia. _Arjuna would not stand for such reason_ —

—a hand on his shoulder, a careful glance. Karna.

"Let it slide, Arjuna," the Lancer advised, wariness mixed with a sliver pleading set deep in those blue eyes as if to remind him that there was nothing more to be done about this matter. The very fact that _he had no say in this_ , however _,_ was feeding on his wrath. _His finger itched to reach for the edge of his arrows, summon-able with a single thought, just as easily as he could Agni Gandiva—_

—it would have been so easy to wreak havoc here, over matters that were beyond his control (over matters that trailed behind him, evoking guilt with each fault and misery that he caused in his pursuance of perfection, _in defying the nature of his true self)._

The door to his master's room swung open, revealing Sahadeva, Mash, and _that woman_. The three of them were lax at first until they noticed the building tension in the room.

He would have snapped had Karna's grip on his shoulder not tightened.

"Arjuna, _please_."

To his ears, Karna's words sounded more like a threat rather than a plea, so much that the white-clad Archer jolted in response, wholly shrugging that uncomfortable grip away from his person. Their person of interest easily grabbed his attention, shifting him away from his upheld wrath.

Maybe it was due to their shared origin, but the woman seemed to read whatever outlook he had in mind. The woman who called herself Brihannala stepped forward, her right arm extended and her palm opened. There was a shine over it, coalescing to form a piece of gold brimming with power. The gesture would have prompted him to draw his weapons, had it not for the earnest, _pleading_ look that she held, as if revealing this item would have earned her a meager validation—a small amount of _trust_.

"I realize that I have overstepped boundaries, kept too many things to myself, delayed the explanations which everybody here were due," she calmly appealed, her glance sweeping once to meet Mash' tired gaze (something was discussed within the closed confine of their master's room, then), "But now that we're as safe as we can be, please... Please allow me to shed light upon what's going on here—why you are summoned to this singularity at all.

The soft glow of Holy Grail on her hand lingered, undeniable in its effort to shroud its mystery, coaxing him to make the right choice—to wait and be patient. And surprisingly, even to himself, Arjuna yielded to the modest request (because they had no leads, their numbers dwindle with each day, and their master still in peril).

Ebony eyes hardened with demand as he looked at his doppelganger and spoke, "We'll play it your way then, _myself._ Spill."

Brihannala released the breath that she had unconsciously held back, a taint of despair hanging over her visage. Eyes closed, the woman spoke as if she was reliving the worst of her memories, "Everything begins with Karna and the ruins of Panchala."

* * *

 

Gazing to the scenery outside of their site of operation—the forest, where magical beasts wandered within, hidden from sun's touch—would have given Arjuna some measure of peace. Instead, it only served to bring the images of what his counterpart had told them in great detail. If he closed his eyes, he would easily imagine the moment she opened her eyes, deprived of memories and thoughts, and saw the figure of Karna in his glory as a Kshatriya. He had looked so radiant, _so ethereal,_ with hand outstretched to help her out of her predicament.

' _I was not myself then, even when I knew that I am a_ _servant—and that he is my summoner_ ',she said, her words charming everyone in the vicinity but not him,  _not another who shared her spirit origin_. Arjuna gave him a hard stare then, hand itching to summon a weapon and invoke a battle, right then, if she heeded not his warning. The woman caught on his quiet threat with a startle, her tone becoming neutral.

The last thing he wanted was his master's entourage, thoroughly entranced by her charisma, knowingly or not.

Her story was one akin to one that his master told him about: of a heroine soldier who fought for the people whom she swore to protect by killing her enemies, only to find out that she had never been part of the society that she ought to protect. As she found out more of herself, the heroine soldier eventually switched sides, fighting against the institution that had, in-between the lines, belittled her origin and stifled her growth— _had turned her into a weapon of mass destruction_.

"Was my story so unbelievable that you are hell-bent to search for the inconsistencies,  _the lies,_ that glue it together?"

He shouldn't be surprised by her presence. Her thunderous mana, crackling just beneath his perception, left a faint trail that would pique his attention. It was a sign of a quiet descent to death—a state that proved her worth and allegiance, for she had risked herself to break free from her master, despite her minimum skill in independent action.

Brihannala would disappear in a few hours, or such was the conclusion that Arjuna ought to believe, and her only way out of such fate was by forging a contract with his master.

(A trap to weaken his master if he knew no better.)

"You may have fooled Karna," he said, the name of his rival told both in spite and acknowledgment (Karna's gifted with the sight to discern the true intentions of people), "but I know the depths of your cunning, _the measures you will take to achieve your goals,_ whatever they may be. _You are me_ , and I know my evil intimately."

The woman looked pensive for a moment, hazel eyes locked with his own as she started to speak. And yet, she hesitated, the words dying on her lips as she shook her head and sat next to him. Arjuna allowed it, only because he knew that the night was still young,  _that Brihannala's story was far from the end—_

—that there were matters that were best hidden from the light. Like his evil.  _Like Krishna_.

"Then," she started, followed by a quiet pause to gather the right words, _the right moment_ , "Allow me to confide to you, the one truth that I have not brought to the people in the room."

She extended her arm then, hand opening as if to recall the unseen to gather around and rejoice for the miracle that she was about to perform. And a miracle did happen, for no one, servant or mortal alike, was able to conjure a weapon belonging to a _deva_ unless she was blessed with one too. Hovering over the palm of her hand was a _Vajra_ made of thunder, shifting to balance its existence in the world. _The Vajra belonging to the King of Heaven._

He had no time to sputter in surprise, for the woman had already quite _stolen his thunder_.

"Let me introduce myself once again," she whispered closely as if the quiet strength behind her resolve would make the least worthy crumble to dust, "My name is Brihannala. I was summoned under the instruction of my divine father, Indra, to drag Karna, the evil-incarnate of this era, who escaped death by summoning himself into this war— _into_ _this anomaly that all of you call a singularity_. Under _Keshava's_ guidance, my mission is to bring order to this part of the World."

He looked at her incredulously as she failed to mention the item that sowed distrust within him, "and yet you hold the grail."

Behind the steel that has her resolve, Brihannala's gaze faltered for a moment, "a part of it. A deterrence to safeguard his objectives. It is with the use of the grail that this singularity comes to be, and so pieces of it must be gathered to undo what was already done."

 _'A convenient tale'_ , he wanted to spit out, to dwell in the absolutes of his gathering mistrust. But Karna was already up after a vital moment of rest (they needed no sleep, but resting in spirit mode allowed them to conserve Ritsuka's precious mana), standing at the door as he signed to swap. Gone was the privacy of their conversation, and Arjuna now had a decision to make.

(Who was he kidding, there was no choice, to begin with; they will have to risk believing the story that Brihannala spewed, for it was the only lead they have at the time.)

In the end, Arjuna bit his lips and acquiesced. Karna's silent imploring settled heavily in his gaze, and Arjuna had less than a mind to argue against the Lancer. He'd rather conserve his thoughts to prepare when Brihannala's bullshit blew on their faces.

"...very well, _Brihannala_ , I'll bite. _For now_." he muttered, gaze hardened with underlying threats, "but if your allegiance to our master quivers— _if you so much become the threat to Master—_ I will shoot you down myself."

He strode away, passing the Lancer in his way hurriedly and, for once dismissing the curious blue-eyed gaze cast at him. He had enough countermeasures to think about.

* * *

 

It all started with a chilling scream, a bellow befitting only to a beast in torture.

The loudness of that scream was enough to send him back to corporeal form as if it was calling to him. Arjuna appeared right next to his master, still unconscious from his mental attack, and, surprisingly, and Emiya, weakened still from the backlash that transpired from the spiritual hacking. He looked alert, at least, and Arjuna could metaphorically hear the gears on the archer's head whirring for strategies— _for ideas._

Even confined in this room, Arjuna could sense the problem that was coming at them, and he knew that Emiya sensed it too. Clairvoyance-backed gut feeling in places like this must not be ignored, lest they wanted to roll over and die.

"Ritsuka will be fine. Go, assist Karna."

It was odd, to be told to assist one of the strongest servants among them. Karna could face whatever stands before them with much ease, had they not been in this compromised situation. There was still one character who had not obtained his trust, and he'd rather ascertain her allegiance soon.

There was the sound of something heavy dropping to the ground, right at the front of their doorstep. Arjuna easily made way to the front, locked on to the bright red of Karna's divine cloak and the stark white of his alternate self's cape, took to stand at Karna's other side.

(He was unsure why he chose to do so. Perhaps he noticed how stiff Karna's gait was, as he looked forward to the enemy standing in their way—how his rival was close to falling to the ground. What could be so harrowing that made his rival be like this?)

There were two people there, right across the clearing. The moon was still out to shed its light upon them, revealing the form of a red-haired man clad in dark cape, standing on his chariot that should have gleamed in gold and red, rather than in silver and dark steel. It was a chariot that Arjuna recognized, having been his target during the war of his life. Yet, there were no horses right at the head, only a figure as tall as Arjuna was—a figure clad in a shredded white  _kurta,_ dirty due to prolonged use, and a pair of white trousers too big to fit his slim form. His eyes were covered with a blindfold, its black color seemingly blending together with his ashen skin.

(There was a familiarity in the way he held himself.)

Karna. _This world's Karna and whichever dark-skinned and white-haired pet that he brought with him._

"I must say, I am quite surprised with how things turn into," Karna— _the other Karna whose voice pulled at the edge of Arjuna's broken dark, like a temptation that urged him to let loose and exterminate whoever stands in his way_ —spoke, lips twitching into a cunning smirk, "I was planning to greet all of you after taking care of my wayward servant there, but I suppose I could skip the pleasantries and cut you down myself—before she becomes too hopeful of her plan."

Brihannala did not bristle, much to his expectation. There was a thought crossing his mind, that perhaps she was here exactly to lure this man here, but Arjuna set it aside and summoned Gandiva instead, brown eyes glinting without mercy. But before he could even utter a word to rebuke his enemy's words, Karna—his rival—had roughly pulled at his arm, gripping on it so tightly that Arjuna was forced to refocus on his ally.

The Lancer looked pallid in the moonlight as if he'd seen a ghost.

There was the loud laughter coming from their enemies, followed by the rushing wind as that unknown person moved to crash unto them. Brihannala was already moving to intercept, her thunder taking the form of a shield to redirect the flow of his crash, and was already following to engage. It was apparent that the woman had chosen her target—now it was a matter of time before he and Karna chose theirs—

—and yet, Karna did not move, as if he was stuck to the ground and Arjuna had no idea what caused him to be so.

"Arjuna, _do you not see_?"

He did not understand what his rival meant, at first, until that person moved to clash against Brihannala once more, lightning in his skin, rage in his screech, and grace in his steps. The hand-to-hand strikes. _The myriads of weapon, called upon with ease. The swiftness taught only to the warriors of Pandavan line._ _The quick and deadly moves which he taught only to his sons—and another._

He wanted to gag.

"My boy," the lancer's voice was quiet with _sorrow_ , " _Why_?"

Oh, how he wanted to speak— _to verbalize the old grief buried under the weight of his life—_

In the end, however, Arjuna dashed into the chaos between that person and his alternate, a cry on his lips: "Stop it now! Vrishaketu! Brihannala!"

Karna— _their enemy—_ laughed, a high-pitched voice that pulled at his nightmare as chaos unfolded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Battle theme against Vrishaketu would probably be similar to FFXV's Battle on the Big Bridge, honestly.


End file.
